


The Magician's Tale

by eilonwy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Humor, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fic Exchange, Forced Partnership, HP: EWE, Magical Artifacts, Mystery, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Spells & Enchantments, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-21
Updated: 2011-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:04:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eilonwy/pseuds/eilonwy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter in an exotic locale brings Draco and Hermione together after more than a decade to solve a complex and potentially dangerous mystery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cairo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pagan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagan/gifts).



> This story was written for the final round of the dmhgficexchange, which ended 5/22/11. The request I received from Pagan was for a fic with mystery, adventure, romance, and a Middle Eastern location, preferably Egypt. It has now been revised and expanded a bit.
> 
> Soundtrack for this story: the very sensual and evocative "Marco Polo," from Loreena McKennitt's album, The Book of Secrets.

 

Monday morning  
31 May 2010

 

Methodically tossing clothing into a well-used suitcase, Hermione Granger paused for a moment as she considered the contents of her lingerie drawer.

Not terribly inspired, she had to admit. Those faded knickers had clearly seen better days, and the bras were just as old, though in their defence, really still quite serviceable. Peter had been discreet, but she had seen the grin he’d valiantly fought down the first few times they’d been intimate. Underwear was made far too much of a fuss over, she’d declared in the face of that grin. It was meant to be functional, not something to spend a fortune on so that one could parade about the bedroom looking like some cheap slag. And anyway, there were far more important things occupying her thoughts than how much cleavage her bra gave her, or whether she should bare her bum in the scantiest of thongs, which she was certain must be dreadfully uncomfortable.

Still. High time she bought herself some new things. The contents of her drawer really were rather sad-looking, she had to admit, and not terribly inspiring, especially under the silk dress she’d bought for the Saturday evening of her forthcoming trip. Well, never mind. It wasn’t as if anybody else would be seeing her undies anyway.

With a small sigh, Hermione scooped up the necessary items and laid them in the suitcase, closing it with a click. She checked her watch. In an hour’s time, she’d be in Cairo. The Portkey, a small, silver Ankh, sat on her dressing table.

Sinking into the overstuffed armchair, she gazed out the window at the tree newly in leaf and settled down to wait.

 

*

 

Tuesday, late afternoon  
1 June

 

“Bring me a glass of whiskey, neat. And be quick about it. Go on, then.” The voice, a rich baritone, sounded weary. Its owner, a tall, blond man, impeccably dressed and groomed, turned from the hotel bus boy in whose palm he had just placed a handsome tip and moved to the French doors that opened onto a spacious, private balcony overlooking the Nile. Stepping outside, he leaned against the rail and breathed deeply, closing his eyes against the relentless Egyptian sun.

If all went well– as he fully anticipated it would– he would be leaving Cairo the owner of a priceless object recently unearthed in a private archaeological dig and now offered up on the auction block. It could conceivably go for millions. He had no doubt that private bidders would be falling all over themselves to get their hands on it, not to mention representatives of museums world-wide. The irony was, none of them had the slightest clue just what it really was they would be bidding for.

He knew, however. He and, he wagered, perhaps a mere handful of others from the wizarding world who had likewise ventured into Cairo and the Muggle world of high-stakes, global art and archaeological acquisitions, for the express purpose of taking this particular little treasure off the market.

It was old, yes. Thousands of years old, to the extent that it had been assessed thus far. Radiocarbon dating was still in progress. And it was exquisite. Such a breathtaking piece of this type had never before been found completely intact– until now. But more than that, far more, it was rumoured to be imbued with a most potent, ancient magic that could confer the gift of the Sight to one versed in its proper use. Whether that was true or merely the product of myths dating back centuries, he didn’t know. Nor did he care, really. It intrigued him, undeniably, exciting his wizard’s curiosity. But just now, it would be enough merely to _have_ it– to be able to gaze at it and admire its beauty, to wonder and marvel at it. Eventually, at his leisure, he would set about uncovering the truth of its long, complex history. For Draco Malfoy, acquiring it would be the pinnacle of years of collecting, the most precious jewel in an already impressive crown of rare antiques and priceless antiquities.

By Merlin, he would have it. Nothing would stand in his way.

 

*

 

Wednesday  
2 June

 

The day of the auction had dawned bright and clear, and it promised to be a scorcher. Hermione stood, momentarily irresolute, before the wardrobe in which she’d hung several frocks and other articles of clothing she’d brought to Egypt. She hoped she’d packed sufficiently, but really, she guessed, the business of the trip should take no more than a few days at most. Extending her time in Cairo for a few extra days of sightseeing would only bring the total to a week or so. What she’d packed should be more than enough. Nodding to herself, she reached for a comfortably unfussy linen dress she’d picked up for practically nothing at a Muggle shop a few days before her departure. It would do nicely.

Absently gazing at her reflection in the mirror as she finished doing up her buttons, she thought back to the pre-sale exhibition at Sotheby’s the previous evening, and a sudden frisson of excitement set off flutters in her stomach. A number of breathtaking and historically invaluable objects had been on display, rare and very significant archaeological finds that had her employer, along with countless other museums and private collectors, clamouring for the opportunity to make a successful bid.

Hermione set her mouth in a fiercely determined line. Her job might well be on the line, depending on the outcome of the sale. She grinned at the hyperbole. _Okay, yeah, a bit dramatic, perhaps_. But at the very least, the probability of professional advancement any time soon was riding on it. Phineas Huxtable, Director of the International Museum of Magical Artefacts, had dangled the prospect of a juicy promotion before her rather shamelessly, an enticing carrot that remained just out of her reach. The fact that she already deserved the promotion on her own merits had become instantly irrelevant when news of the dig and its astounding finds had become public knowledge. The intelligence had spread quickly in wizarding and Muggle circles alike, and it was clear that competition for the artefacts would be fierce.

That Hermione was well suited to work in Acquisitions had been a no-brainer for Huxtable, back when she was fresh out of university, given both her knowledge of antiquities and her background as a Muggleborn. Now, eight years later, the sale of a lifetime would be her proving ground. And well she knew it.

No wonder, then, that her stomach was in knots. To acquire any of those objects for the museum’s collection would be an incredible coup. But there was one in particular that would be the proverbial icing on the cake, if the rumours proved true. Its find would, in fact, rock the wizarding world. The thought of handling such an object, really examining and studying it, was supremely exciting. Merely seeing it on exhibition the night before had been a thrill.

Seeing Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, had been a shock.

 

 _The previous evening–_

 _The viewing room at Sotheby’s was comfortably cool after the intense heat that persisted even after dark. People milled quietly about, moving in small knots or singly in the direction of the glass cases, in which the objects up for auction were on display. Conversation remained a low murmur punctuated by occasional laughter or hushed, reverential exclamations._

 _A complimentary flute of refreshingly chilled champagne in hand, Hermione drifted reluctantly away from the viewing area, deeply absorbed in her own thoughts. The possibilities for research were vast and quite astonishing, and pleasing mental images of herself being feted after the publication of an illuminating and seminal scholarly article on the find began warming her thoughts. Smiling to herself, she dipped her head to take a sip of champagne._

 _“Damn me, Granger. That’s a dangerous smile if ever I saw one. Should I be worried?”_

 _Hermione’s head snapped up. Raising his own glass in a salute, an eyebrow cocked in amusement, the tall, blond man standing before her smiled lazily and then put a warning finger to his lips._

 _“What the hell are_ you _doing here?” It came out of her in a hiss._

 _Not terribly original, but it was the first thing that popped into her head. If Malfoy perceived it as such, he didn’t show it. Instead, he continued his desultory gaze with a quiet chuckle._

 _“Same as you, I expect. I’m here to buy.”_

 _“But…” Hermione gawked at him, confused. “Surely you’re not here on behalf of a…” Her voice dropped precipitously to a whisper. “…_ Muggle _museum! You couldn’t be! And your name isn’t on the list either! I don’t understand.”_

 _Leaning toward her, he plucked the programme from the breast pocket of her blazer and shook it open. Running his finger down the list of private buyers, he stopped at an entry towards the bottom of the page and gave it a light tap._

 _“ ‘Derek Moncrieff?’ Is that… Oh! I see!” Hermione took an involuntary step backwards, nearly bumping into another guest, who shot her a mildly exasperated glance. “Sorry, pardon me!” Turning back to Draco, she looked at him quizzically. “But why?”_

 _“Simple, really.” His voice was quite low now, its tone placid and patient, almost as if he were explaining something to a child. “You know as well as I do the circles we move in, in places like this. A pseudonym protects me for a variety of reasons, and allows me to make and maintain connections I could never cultivate otherwise. Need I say more?” He paused, looking at her carefully._

 _“No, of course not.” Hermione felt herself mildly annoyed somehow. “I understand perfectly. But… I had no idea…”_

 _“That I have an interest in such things?” He smiled once again, and this time, it was coolly self-satisfied. “Oh yes. For quite some time now. Started collecting not long after we left school, in fact. Soon as I came into my inheritance.” Something seemed to strike him oddly funny just then, and he laughed briefly– mirthlessly, it seemed to Hermione– before continuing. “I know why you are here, Granger, and whom you represent. You would really appreciate my collection. Pity you won’t see it. Private viewings only.”_

 _Well, that certainly let_ her _out. As if she would even want to be privy to Draco Malfoy’s inner sanctum! Irritated at the obvious attempt to bait her and the typical arrogance and conceit that had fuelled it, Hermione found herself wondering, at the same time, how many women had actually been shown his treasures._ Ha. _She smirked at the perverse twist_ that _thought had suddenly taken._

 _“What?” Draco regarded her curiously, his eyes narrowing and a corner of his mouth lifting in a small grin._

 _Hermione smiled back sweetly. “Nothing at all, Mr. ‘Moncrieff.’ Good luck at the bidding tomorrow. I believe I know what_ you _are here for. Shame you won’t succeed.”_

 _Visibly caught off guard, he fell silent for just a moment. Then he looked her in the eye, and this time, his smile was lethal. “Oh, I rather think I shall. Sleep well tonight, Granger. I reckon your boss won’t be best pleased with you after tomorrow.”_

 

Turning away from the mirror, Hermione scooped up her oversized hobo bag from the bed and slung it over her shoulder. There would be just enough time for a light breakfast downstairs in the tiny, sequestered, wizarding establishment where she had a room– in truth, she didn’t think she could stomach more than toast and coffee– and then she’d head over to the auction house. The day of reckoning had arrived. She hoped Draco Malfoy would also choose to eat lightly. A bit of crow was definitely going to be on the menu for afters.

 

*

 

Even by Sotheby’s standards, the gathering in the auditorium was impressive: a crowd of people, their numbered paddles at the ready, eagerly awaiting the start of the bidding. Excitement hung in the air, very nearly palpable.

Moving quickly to an empty seat towards the back of the spacious room, Hermione sat down, hands resting lightly on the paddle she would use to make her bids. Her palms were just slightly damp, and she curled her fingers over the handle of the paddle, gripping it with barely contained excitement.

The room was rapidly filling up, and voices buzzed around her, low and insistent, as more and more seats were taken. Despite herself, Hermione couldn’t help wondering where Malfoy was. Furtively, she directed her gaze along the rows in her immediate vicinity, first to the left and then the right. There was no sign of him.

And then, two things happened within thirty seconds of each other. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione spotted the familiar blond hair shining like a beacon amidst the sea of mostly swarthy humanity. Just as she caught his eye, eliciting a brief nod from him in return, a Sotheby’s official strode up to the podium. His expression was grave. All attention was abruptly on him, and the room turned deathly quiet.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began and paused to clear his throat in obvious distress. “It is with great regret that I must inform you of the disappearance of Lot Number Six. The item in question, a very fine ceramic bowl, Fourth Dynasty, believed to have been used for purposes of ritual divination, was a find of tremendous and truly incalculable significance.”

The collective gasp that had swept the room initially gave way to a profoundly shocked silence as the news was digested. The representative from Sotheby’s surveyed the room, nodding empathetically at the universal dismay of the crowd and holding up a hand.

“The appropriate authorities have been notified,” he went on, “and I assure you that every possible avenue will be explored to ensure its swift and safe recovery.

“Because of this unexpected and deeply disturbing turn of events, today’s auction has been cancelled. Until such time as we at Sotheby’s feel the auction can proceed securely, Lot Numbers One through Five will remain safely under lock and key. Again, ladies and gentlemen, our apologies for any inconvenience and our thanks for your understanding and cooperation in this distressing matter.”

With a brief, almost curt nod, the official turned from the podium and quickly strode away. A moment later, a mobile phone went off, and almost instantaneously, so did another on the opposite side of the room.

As Hermione Granger flipped her phone open, raising it to her ear, Draco Malfoy was digging into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket to locate his own, which had just begun vibrating insistently. As he extracted it and brought it up to his ear, their eyes met once again, lingering briefly, and then both turned away to take their respective calls.

 

*

 

Half an hour later—

 

From behind his massive mahogany desk, the director of Sotheby’s carefully surveyed the man (well-dressed, affluent, and supremely self-assured) and woman (all business in her manner and probably quite ambitious, he would wager) who sat facing him. Oddly, Adrian Branson noted, both were wearing the identical expression.

It was far from happy.

“I trust that the two of you will be able to be of real assistance to us,” Branson pressed on, in an attempt to overlook their decidedly underwhelmed reaction to his proposition. “Obviously, it is vital that we locate the bowl as swiftly as possible. Its value is beyond price, as of course both of you are already aware.” He glanced from one face to the other, eliciting slight nods from both.

“To that end,” he continued, “we are utilising all possible resources, as I have explained. However, it is my belief that relying solely upon law enforcement is both insufficient and short-sighted, when a matter of such gravity is at stake. Miss Granger, your invaluable scholarly expertise– coupled with _your_ extensive experience and connections, Mr. Moncrieff, as a collector of antiquities– uniquely qualify you as a team to track down the bowl so that it might be restored to us as soon as possible. You will, of course, share any information you might uncover with the police. I _hope_ ,” he added guardedly, “that you will have happy news for me before very long. Good luck!”

Rising from his chair, Branson extended his hand to Hermione and then to Draco, and then gave them a cheerful nod of dismissal. He watched as they disappeared through the doorway, pensively tapping the tips of his fingers together. It was a long shot, he realised, but just maybe, with their particular talents, teaming them up would prove successful. Both of them had more than sufficient motivation to find the relic. Avid and knowledgeable bidders, they’d been fully prepared to cut one another’s throat for the privilege of its purchase only an hour earlier. Put your knives away for the time being, he thought grimly, and just find me that bloody bowl!

 

*

 

Draco and Hermione walked the distance from the director’s office to the entrance of the auction house in silence. At the door, he paused, his hand on its metal handle, and looked at her.

“It’s going to be mine, you know,” he informed her calmly. “You might as well know that right from the off.”

“Is that so?” The nerve of him. Hermione could feel her face flushing with anger. Obnoxious little prick. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Malfoy. Oh, sorry,” she added in a low hiss. “ _Moncrieff._ ”

Her last words were addressed to his retreating back, since by this time, he was already halfway through the door. It swung back, nearly hitting her in the face. Arrogant, presumptuous, _and_ rude. Nothing had changed.

Hurrying to keep up, Hermione found herself plucking at the sleeve of his jacket. “Will you please slow down! Thanks!” she muttered, as Draco halted abruptly, turning to face her.

“Is there a reason you’re still here, Granger?” He brushed at his sleeve as if to make sure she hadn’t damaged the material.

“We _are_ supposed to be working _together_. Have you forgotten?”

“Ah yes. _That_. I assumed we would go our separate ways and confer only when absolutely necessary. You didn’t actually take all that teamwork bollocks seriously, did you?” One look at her scowl and he raised a surprised eyebrow. “Apparently, you did. I suppose there’s no getting rid of you, is there.”

“No. There isn’t,” Hermione replied curtly. “Trust me, Malfoy, I’m not thrilled about it either. But Sotheby’s is counting on us, and I mean to do whatever I can to get that bowl back, even if it means working with you. And for your information, the bowl is going back to England with _me_.”

There was just a flash of a glacial smile that plainly said he knew better, and then he shrugged. “Right. Let’s get this over with.” Abruptly turning on his heel, he began to walk away and then halted. Hermione was still standing in the same spot. “Come on, then!” he exclaimed, exasperated. “What are you waiting for?”

“Okay, keep your shirt on, I’m coming!” she muttered, gritting her teeth.

Malfoy’s legs were long and so was his stride, one for every two of Hermione’s. He walked quickly, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he wasn’t alone. She had all she could do to stay abreast of him as they walked.

“Where are we going?” she puffed, irritably pulling her shoulder-length hair back and off her neck. It had begun frizzing in the extreme heat and humidity of the afternoon. “Shouldn’t we–”

“My hotel room.” At her look of surprise, Draco sighed and then continued with a patience he was clearly having to impose on himself. “Think, Granger. There’s been a theft. A very high-stakes one. If we are going to work together, we’ll need to maintain absolute secrecy so we can nose about undetected. At my hotel, we’ll have the privacy we need. Understand?”

He was doing it again, wasn’t he, patronising her as if she were a child– or worse, an utter idiot. Schooling her features into an impassive mask, Hermione nodded briefly and walked on, leaving him behind for once.

 

*

 

The silence that hung between them for the remainder of the walk to Draco’s hotel was broken when the rather impressive vista of the Four Seasons Hotel, First Residence, came into view. At number 35 Giza Street, it overlooked the Nile on one side and had spectacular views of the Pyramids on the other. One glance told Hermione that it was a place of unparalleled luxury.

“I don’t understand,” she remarked as they approached the entrance, dodging a sleek black Mercedes that had just pulled up in front. “Why are you staying in a... you know...” She lowered her voice to a near-whisper. “... a _Muggle_ hotel? You of all people. Besides, surely you must know there are better alternatives...” She gave him a meaningful look. _For people like us._

Draco slanted a look at Hermione and his mouth twitched in amusement. “Why, what a hidebound snob you are, Granger. You surprise me. Is a beautifully appointed hotel like this not good enough for you? And for your information, I’ve long since got over certain infantile prejudices that, I admit, did colour my perceptions–”

“Not to mention your behaviour!” Hermione could feel herself growing heated. She stared openly at him now, askance.

“Yes, all right, points to you. My behaviour was not all it should have been.”

“That’s an astounding understatement!” she muttered, and then narrowed her eyes. “Answer the question, Malfoy. Why here?”

“Because,” he replied smoothly, unfazed by her suspicion and resentment, “as a collector, I have found it far more advantageous to make a reputation for myself in their world, and to be able to mingle comfortably with them. I can only do that if I am consistently seen to be _in_ their world. I cannot suddenly disappear off their– how do they put it? Off their–”

“Radar,” Hermione finished dully.

“Radar, exactly.” Draco nodded. “It would cause a lot of messy complications that frankly, I would prefer to avoid. Besides, to be quite honest, I find I rather enjoy a hotel like this, as opposed to the sort of squatty little hole in the wall I expect you’re staying in simply because it’s run by our sort. Here, they make one feel quite at home in all sorts of delightful ways.” The enigmatic, self-satisfied grin he gave her now reminded Hermione alarmingly of the Cheshire Cat.

“Hedonist!”

“No, not really. It’s a question of standards. Come on.” Draco’s tone was suddenly brisk as he took her elbow and gave her a small push forward. “Let’s go.”

 

*

 

Leaving the sweltering Cairo streets behind, Hermione felt as if she’d suddenly been transported to a glamourous, 1940s film-set version of a hotel.

High ceilings were bolstered by white marble columns that were as wide around as tree trunks. Splendid crystal chandeliers sparkled in each main section, casting warm, flickering light onto beautifully upholstered chairs, sofas and settees. Rich Turkey rugs adorned marble floors that shone like glass. Large potted ferns stood sentinel here and there, and enormous paintings in ornate, gilded frames graced the walls. Altogether, it was a scene of such enormous yet tasteful opulence, style, and grandeur that somehow, it didn’t seem at all excessive. Instead, it felt like something out of a fantasy.

Suddenly she felt a tug on her elbow once again. Looking up, she saw Draco smirking at her.

“Manners, Granger,” he sighed. “One might think that you’d never been in a decent hotel before. Try not to gawk quite so obviously.”

Propelling her into one of the lifts, he pressed the button for the seventeenth floor. The doors slid noiselessly open and they stepped out into a plushly carpeted corridor. Fishing a key card out of his breast pocket, Draco slid it through the slot in the door and pushed.

Hermione took three steps inside and stopped in her tracks.

“You said your hotel ‘room.’ This is bigger than my entire flat!”

Busy loosening his tie, Draco turned. He seemed genuinely surprised. “Is it? Pity. I like to be comfortable when I’m away from home. An ordinary room would be…”

“Sufficient? Quite nice, thank you very much?” Hermione suggested, a gleam in her eye.

“Claustrophobic. I find a suite like this far more to my liking. Come on, Granger, let’s get cracking. There’s work to be done. Sit.” He gestured in the direction of the sofa and then crossed over to the desk and picked up the telephone receiver. “I’ll ring for some lunch, shall I?”

 

*

 

Draco Malfoy in rolled-up shirtsleeves and a pair of faded, snug-fitting jeans was not a sight Hermione had ever expected to see in her lifetime, but there he was, lounging on the sofa in the living room of the hotel suite, feet bare, tossing back yet another glass of wine and utterly lost in thought.

They’d had a rather lavish lunch an hour earlier, courtesy of room service. Draco had ordered, speaking quickly and quietly into the phone’s receiver and holding up a hand of dismissal when Hermione attempted to offer him money. Soon after that, their meal had arrived, a veritable feast of smoked salmon, hummus, baba ghanoush, and a selection of cheeses and breads, followed by a main course of grilled seafood and vegetables, and a refreshing orange pudding. A very good bottle of Pinot Grigio had accompanied the food, as well as a large, apparently bottomless pot of rich, aromatic coffee.

After lunch, Draco had abruptly excused himself. Hermione had watched him disappear into the bedroom. She was already feeling comfortably sated and slightly drowsy, and it occurred to her, in passing, that perhaps all that rich food and wine weren’t such a very good idea after all. Just as she had concluded that a nap sounded awfully appealing, Draco had reappeared, his tie and suit jacket gone and his immaculately pressed trousers exchanged for a pair of comfortable jeans. His shirt was now open at the neck, its sleeves rolled up nearly to his elbows, and his feet were bare.

Just what was it, exactly, about barefoot men in well-fitted, faded jeans? Barefoot men in jeans that fit like a second skin, in fact, who were also wearing open-necked, white shirts that showed off a golden tan. Which in turn brought out their striking eyes and enviably silky, pale hair. Hermione was suddenly hard-pressed to answer that question, but not for lack of looking, however surreptitiously she darted several glances in his direction when she thought he wouldn’t notice.

“Hope you don’t mind. I work much better when I’m comfortable,” Draco announced, pouring himself another glass of that marvellous wine and sitting down on the sofa. Leaning back, glass in hand, he surveyed his guest sitting in the adjacent chair, her own clothing less than crisp after their walk in the mid-day Egyptian sun. “I’d offer you a change of clothes as well, but I’m afraid all I’ve got is a dressing gown or something else that would be far too large for you. Please do feel free to freshen up, though,” he added, as an afterthought. “The loo is just over there.” Smiling faintly, he leaned back against the cushions, bringing the glass to his lips.

There was something slightly predatory about that smile. As she rose and headed towards the guest powder room, Hermione wondered suddenly what she had got herself into, agreeing to come up to Malfoy’s hotel room. Rooms, rather. Given what she had already observed about Draco Malfoy and his habits, she could only just imagine what the bedroom of this suite must be like. He was clearly fond of creature comforts and just as fond of having his own way in practically everything. No doubt, he had already made very good use of the king-sized bed she guessed must be the focal point of that bedroom. Not that such exploits were any of her business, of course. Leaning over the sink, she splashed a bit of cool water on her face and neck. Her reflection in the generous mirror gazed back at her with a pronounced frown. Impatiently, she raked damp hands through her rebellious hair, twisting it quickly into a rather messy bun, and smoothed down her dress. There. Better. She felt somewhat human again, and ready to face the man waiting for her in the living room.

Resuming her seat, Hermione herded her errant thoughts back to the matter at hand, resolutely ignoring the naked feet that now rested, crossed at the ankle, on the low, gilded cocktail table.

“Right… um…” she faltered, pointedly looking just over his shoulder at a tiny spot on the wall.

Draco turned his head around, craning his neck to see what could be so fascinating, and then looked back at her, amused. “I’m over here, Granger. Remember me?”

She could feel an annoyingly persistent blush blossoming in her cheeks and gradually working its way down her neck. Those lucent, grey eyes had her dead to rights, his gaze relentless. He _knew_ she’d been looking, and furthermore, that she’d liked what she’d seen. And damn him, he was _enjoying_ making her squirm!

“It would be impossible to forget _you_ ,” she began, and then stopped in horror at the way her words had come out. Talk about putting both feet in one’s mouth, one and then the other, and then diving right in after them!

Draco was clearly struggling to contain his laughter. His hand covered his eyes in one final, gallant attempt and then he lost the battle.

“Indeed!” he sputtered at last. “So I’ve been told!”

“No doubt,” Hermione replied primly, trying to ignore the fact that her cheeks were flaming by now. “Listen, shouldn’t we be concentrating on the problem at hand instead of… instead of other things?”

“Yes, all right,” he sighed, still grinning. This was going to be more enjoyable than he’d anticipated. The prized bowl would be his eventually, and he’d have the fun of tweaking Granger along the way. She was every bit as easily riled up now as she’d been when they were at school and, it would seem, he hadn’t lost his touch when it came to pushing her buttons. In fact, looking at her now, tendrils of wild hair curling about her face and her mouth set in a determined line, he could still see the eleven-year-old girl who had lifted her chin defiantly the first time he’d found a way to needle her. She’d always been ready to give as good as she’d got, he remembered, and it seemed that hadn’t changed in the years since they’d last seen each other.

“Look, it seems to me,” Hermione was saying, “that there are several possibilities regarding the theft: one, that it was stolen by a Muggle who plans to sell it on the black market. It’s worth millions.”

“Right. He or she would have to be fairly knowledgeable, though. If that’s the case, it’s likely the thief is well acquainted with the art and antiquities world. For that matter, it could be somebody either of us already knows.”

“True.” Hermione nodded. “Scary thought, but yes. I’ve actually been racking my brain, trying to think of everybody I generally come into contact with at these things, and how long I’ve known them.”

“Come up with anybody?”

“Nope, not yet. They all seem far too conscientious and law-abiding.”

“ ‘Seem’ being the operative word, of course.” Draco took a healthy swig from his glass of wine. Then he raised the bottle in Hermione’s direction. “More?”

Automatically, she held out her glass and then thought again. “Just a drop, thanks.” She took a tiny sip and then frowned in concentration. “Okay, next scenario: somebody from Sotheby’s–”

“An inside job,” Draco murmured, nodding. “Quite possibly. Somebody from there could have nicked it easily enough, given the sort of access he or she would naturally have. Whatever security measures are in place, they can be got round if one knows how.”

“You’re thinking it could be somebody fairly high up, aren’t you. Surely you don’t believe that Branson himself–”

“Why not? It actually makes perfect sense. Think about it: he contacts the authorities, announces the theft very publicly, calls off the auction, gets us involved looking for the bowl as well, and all the time, he’s got it stashed somewhere. The police look, we look, nobody finds it, and eventually the trail grows cold. Meanwhile, he’s sitting on something that’s worth a bloody fortune. Who has better access to hiding places in the auction house than Branson himself? He might well have devised the security codes, for all we know. And even if he didn’t, like I said, he sure as hell has the means to get round them. He runs the whole show.”

“Yes, but…” Absently, Hermione rubbed a finger across her bottom lip. “What could he possibly do with it? If _he_ ever tried to sell it, it would be all over. The only reason I can think of for him to steal it is if he simply wants it for himself.”

Draco shrugged. “Well? Why not? _I_ do.”

Hermione eyed him thoughtfully. “Hmm. You’ve got a point. But there’s a third possibility too, something we haven’t talked about at all yet. What if a wizard or witch has taken it? The rumours have been flying, regarding the true nature of the bowl. You know that as well as I do. It’s why I’m here. By rights, you know, it belongs in the museum, where it’ll be handled and displayed properly as an invaluable part of our magical heritage. _I_ think–”

“Spare me, please. I don’t need a lecture on the moral superiority of keeping priceless art and artefacts in the public sector versus in a private collection.”

Hermione bristled slightly. “Sorry. What I was getting at was… just maybe, somebody from the wizarding community wanted it for the power it could give them. I mean, if the rumours _are_ true, its potential is enormous, isn’t it. It’s almost scary, what could happen if it got into the wrong hands.”

“ _My_ hands, in other words?” Draco asked quietly, extending his left arm and turning it so that she had a view of his forearm. Beneath the tan, traces of the Dark Mark remained. His expression had turned suddenly remote.

“No! I didn’t mean that, I swear. Truly. That never crossed my mind!” Hermione protested. But in fact, it had. Suddenly, she was ashamed of the thought, fleeting though it had been.

Draco sat forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression softening a bit. He seemed suddenly weary. “Look. I’d like to believe that you trust me, though in all honesty, I don’t really know why you should. We haven’t seen each other in twelve years, and the last time we did, all hell was breaking loose. Apart from the collecting, you have no idea what I’ve done with my life since the war ended and we left school, nor do I know much of anything about what your life’s been like in the last decade.”

“That’s true. What _has_ your life been like, then?” Hermione asked softly, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

“Not very much to tell, really. I came into my inheritance soon after we left school. I was eighteen, the war had just ended, and all I wanted was to escape from everything– my parents and their expectations, most of my so-called ‘friends,’ the lot. Soon as I got the money, I took off for the Continent and travelled. Got the bug for collecting after spending rather a lot of time in places like the Louvre and just… you know… wandering about. Old things fascinated me. I wanted to learn their secrets, know their stories. Still do.” Draco fell silent, watching Hermione carefully.

“I know what you mean. That’s just how I feel about it,” she murmured. “It’s why I do what I do as well. But… what else, Malfoy? Apart from collecting, I mean. If you don’t mind me asking.”

“There isn’t much else, I’m afraid. Never been married, though I came close a couple of times. Don’t have to work. Reckon I live a purely self-indulgent life simply because I can. And I make no apologies for that.” He gave a quick bark of caustic laughter. “Anyway, being a wastrel’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Rather a bore, really. What about you, then?”

“Me?” Now it was Hermione’s turn to laugh bitterly. “Oh, well, I’ve had an incredibly exciting life. Got a job at the museum straight out of university, and I’ve been there ever since. My boss knows how much I love my work and takes advantage of that. I’d work for free, and I think he’d actually let me, except that I have to eat and pay the rent and even he isn’t that much of a Scrooge.”

“A what?”

“Sorry. Muggle reference. Character in a novel.”

“Oh.” Draco topped up her glass of wine and then his own and sat back. “Love life? Surely even you must have had one at some point.” One corner of his mouth quirked up in a tiny, teasing grin and Hermione bit back the retort she’d been about to make.

“Dating, on and off,” she sighed, “and one serious relationship that ended a few months ago. Apparently, I’m a workaholic. He got tired of competing with my career, he said. I gave back the ring and that was that.” Hermione turned her head away, sudden tears beginning to well up and clog her throat. Peter. The thought of him affected her even now, and that was a painful surprise.

Evidently, she had given a reply that he hadn’t been expecting, but it was one that appeared to intrigue him. For a full minute, he simply studied her silently. Whatever he was thinking, he chose to keep to himself.

“Sorry, Granger,” he said at last. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

Hermione shook her head, giving a small, shaky laugh. “No, it’s okay. I didn’t expect that either, not after all this time. I don’t usually get all weepy. It’s over, period. No looking back.” She fished around in her purse for a tissue and blew her nose. “So. What next? Any thoughts?”

“As a matter of fact, yeah. I’m thinking maybe we ought to start with the most dangerous of the three possibilities.” Draco paused, carefully watching her face to see if she understood.

She did. Her expression turned sombre and she nodded slowly. “Where do we begin? It’s my first time here. I’ve no clue.”

Draco stood and stretched, then extended a hand, pulling Hermione to her feet as well. “Luckily, I have. What we need is Cairo’s equivalent of Knockturn Alley. There’s only one place to start looking. The bazaar.”

 

TBC


	2. Khan Al-Khalili

 

Lengthening shadows signalled the start of the sun’s dip towards the horizon, though the heat of the day still rose around them like a wall as they stepped outside, leaving the comfort of the hotel behind.

‘Is it far? The bazaar, I mean.” Hermione gave a tiny skip to catch up with Draco’s longer strides. She was vaguely aware that she was beginning to sound faintly whiney. But damn it, it was so _hot_ and there was a blister forming on her right foot that was already rubbing painfully against the strap of her sandal. “Will it take very long to get there? Because, you see, I–”

Draco turned his head to eye the girl hurrying to keep up. “I must say,” he remarked, “it is strangely comforting to know that some things never change, no matter how much time has passed.” At the confused look on her face, he smiled to himself and shook his head. “Never mind. Forget it. I love playing Twenty Questions whilst hiking round Cairo in the blistering heat. What was it you wanted to know again?”

Hermione blew a stray curl out of her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a light sheen of perspiration on her forehead and upper lip. They’d only been walking about ten minutes and already she felt slightly faint. “I _said_ ,” she huffed, beginning to feel quite cross now, “is the bazaar very far from here? Because to be quite honest…” She thought quickly. “I was rather looking forward to getting back to my hotel and doing a bit of reading–”

Draco gave a snort of laughter. “What a surprise.”

“I _meant_ reading to do with the missing bowl! I brought some material from my office, research I did on the Fourth Dynasty. It might be of some help.” Her tone had grown testy, the blister and the unrelenting heat and Malfoy’s attitude fortifying her self-righteous ire. “ _Obviously_ , if we’re to be at all effective in uncovering its whereabouts, we’ll need to do our homework, won’t we. That’s why Branson asked for our help. It’s our expertise he wants. Or mine, at least. Perhaps he over-estimated yours,” she added archly.

 _Oh, really_. Draco raised an eyebrow. “Not at all,” he replied coolly. “But I think perhaps you have. You’ve got book knowledge, it’s true, but I suspect what I have to offer will prove equally valuable. And in answer to your rather impatient questions…” He raised a hand, index finger pointing.

The entrance to the marketplace was just a few yards away.

Khan Al-Khalili.

At seven hundred years old, it was one of the oldest continuously operating bazaars in the world. Ancient, elaborately carved stone archways and cobbled streets awaited, offering a veritable explosion of colour, activity, sounds and smells, as throngs of people moved amongst the canopied stalls and tents.

“You needn’t look so smug,” Hermione muttered, gritting her teeth against the pain of the blister, which was on the verge of popping now. “Hang on, Malfoy! I need to stop for a minute.”

Leaning against a nearby wall, she slipped her sandal off and inspected her foot. An angry-looking, fluid-filled blister on her big toe had blown up to the breaking point, and she had nothing for it. Healing herself out here in the open was clearly not an option.

“Shit!” She winced at the raw, relentless pain.

“Nasty,” Draco said softly. “Sorry, Granger, I didn’t realise.”

Hermione glanced up and discovered him gazing at her with obvious concern. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “I’m… I’m sorry too. You didn’t deserve that last remark. And… well… it wasn’t so much that I have reading to do, though I really do. I’m just so awfully hot and my bloody toe hurts!”

Draco looked at her thoughtfully but said nothing for a moment. Then, his eyes narrowed suddenly as he remembered something, and he grinned, sticking his hand in the pocket of his jeans with a sly wink.

“What’ve you got there?” Hermione laughed. “Essence of Murtlap?” _If only._

Still grinning, he withdrew his hand once again, holding it out to her, palm up.

“Sticking plaster. Here. Take it.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. Silently, she accepted the proffered bandage and with great relief, covered the blister. Then she opened her mouth to speak. Anticipating her question, Draco gave a careless shrug.

“Found a supply of them in the loo. At the hotel. Marvellous little things, sticking plasters. This sort actually has some kind of medicine already on it.” He grinned, looking highly pleased with himself. “Better?”

Was he having her on? Hermione looked closely at Draco, but he seemed genuinely impressed by this minor Muggle invention. She smiled then.

“Much. Thanks.” She straightened and looked around. “So… where to?”

Draco frowned briefly as he scanned the bustling marketplace. “Well, there’s somebody I am hoping to find. No idea if he’s here today. But if he is, he might be able to give us some information. Can you walk now?”

She nodded and started forward, aware suddenly of the gentle pressure of his fingertips at the small of her back.

The bazaar was humming with activity, and it was easy to lose oneself in the crowd of eager shoppers inspecting the goods on offer at the many stalls. Everything imaginable could be had at Khan Al-Khalili, from live chickens to spices, exotic jewellery to perfumed silks.

“Right,” he said quietly. “Now listen. There’s lots of intriguing stuff in the bazaar, but try not to get distracted.”

“You don’t need to tell me that, Malfoy. I’m certainly not here to buy trinkets!” Hermione retorted, incredulous.

Draco raised an amused eyebrow but said nothing. A moment later, he stopped her once again with a light touch to her shoulder.

“Relax, Granger. I know you’re not. What I meant was, we’ll need to pretend to be browsing the stalls. So go ahead and look at whatever you want, but just remember it’s a ruse. And keep your eyes open for anything or anyone unusual.”

She nodded and once again, they moved along the narrow alleyways between stalls, the din of the marketplace rising palpably around them.

A knot of tourists approached them, intending to pass, amongst them a man in a rumpled linen suit. His skin was olive-dark, his black hair unkempt and greasy, and there was a tiny silver hoop in his left ear. Rings adorned nearly all his fingers. As the group drew nearer, the man raised his left hand to his face for just a moment, so that the back of his hand was briefly visible. On his middle finger, there was a silver ring with a prominent design on its round, flat surface. It was the All-Seeing Eye. As he brushed past them, he dropped his hand to his side, turning his palm. His dark eyes met theirs for a moment, and he nodded slightly before averting his gaze once again and moving on.

“Well, well,” Draco murmured, opening his own palm a moment later. In it lay a small parchment scroll. “It would appear that somebody knows we’re here, and I’ll wager they know why as well.”

“Open it!” Hermione urged him excitedly. “What does it say?”

“It says…” he began slowly, examining the spidery scrawl, its ink partially smudged. “ ‘El-Fishawi Alley. The coffee shop. Ten minutes.’ ” Carefully folding the parchment and slipping it into his pocket, his expression remained thoughtful, cryptic even, but there was an unmistakable surge of excitement in his eyes. Things had suddenly become a lot more… interesting. “Right, then. The Alley. Let’s go.”

 

*

 

At the heart of the Khan, El-Fishawi Alley was home to one of its oldest, most regularly frequented coffee shops, itself a haven for writers and artists and a favourite of both natives and tourists alike. The “café of mirrors,” as the Al-Fishawi Coffee Shop was popularly known, was lively, noisy, and incredibly chaotic. Spindly wooden tables outside accommodated the crowds of patrons that regularly spilled out of the café into the street.

When they arrived at last, pushing their way through clusters of customers vying for tables and harried waiters precariously balancing trays of drinks as they wove through the crowd, Draco spotted the man they had seen earlier. Seated at the back of the café in an obscure corner, he caught their eyes and inclined his head.

Working their way to the back of the café was a challenge. Draco pushed Hermione steadily forward, one hand on her back and the other at her elbow, until they reached the table in question. The man nodded once again, his smile enigmatic, and gestured towards two empty chairs. Up close, they could see that his suit was rather threadbare and soiled about the collar and cuffs. There was also a distinctly ripe odour about him, due more to a lack of basic hygiene than just the heat of the day.

Three cups stood on the table, one of them already filled with Turkish coffee. The man raised a questioning eyebrow and then poured out two more cups from an ornate silver pot, sliding them across the narrow table.

“You will take coffee with me, I think,” he remarked in a heavily accented voice, his words a statement of fact more than an invitation. “It is customary.”

A moment passed. Hermione and Draco exchanged a quick glance, and then both carefully took a sip of the strong, dark brew. They waited. When the man remained silent, Draco put down his cup.

“What have you got for us, then?” No point beating about the bush.

A gold tooth flashed briefly when the stranger’s lips drew back in a cagey smile. “Information. As of course you have guessed.”

Hermione leaned in more closely. “What sort of information?”

The man smiled broadly now, and his gold tooth gleamed. “For a price.”

Draco’s carefully neutral expression hardened. He’d anticipated something like this. He drew out his wallet but kept it closed, his hand resting lightly on the cover, and then sat back. “How much? And in what currency?”

“Galleons. Five will do.” The stranger spoke softly, then sat back as well, folding his arms smugly as he watched Draco withdraw the coins from his wallet. The man leaned forward to take them, but Draco moved faster, clamping down on them swiftly with his palm.

“Not so fast. The information first. Then the payment.”

The man heaved a dramatic sigh and leaned closer. At this range, his pungent odour was inescapable, and reflexively, both Draco and Hermione drew back. He seemed not to notice. Raising an index finger, he dropped his voice to a provocative whisper. “The one you seek has sent me to tell you that he waits for you at the bazaar tomorrow afternoon. Look for a red canopy.”

Draco frowned. Not very much to this message that had just cost him dear in the purse. “That’s it? Nothing more?”

“Nothing more. Look for a red canopy,” the man repeated, and then held out his hand, palm up, waiting.

Draco pushed the coins across the table. “Piss off,” he said coldly.

His gold tooth winking in a wide smile, the man scooped the coins up, saluted Draco with a finger to his brow and then disappeared into the café’s teeming crowd.

“You do know we’ve just been robbed. Or I have, anyway,” he muttered in disgust, tossing back the remains of his coffee and setting the china cup down with a decided _clink_.

“Oh, but you couldn’t have known what he would say!” Hermione hoped her words sounded reassuring. “And anyway, it _is_ useful information, assuming it’s true, of course. I mean, we didn’t know for sure when this man, whoever he is, would be here, or even _if_ he would. At least this narrows things down a bit, doesn’t it?” She looked at him with a small, hopeful smile.

“Yeah. I reckon.” Draco sighed, his fingertips drumming an idle pattern on the table top, and then stood abruptly. “It’s been a long day. Let’s go.”

 

*

 

Thursday afternoon  
3 June

 

They had agreed to meet outside the auction house the following afternoon. Hermione waited anxiously, checking her watch every other minute and tapping her foot. Already, it was uncomfortably hot, and she was glad she’d thought to pull her hair back into a braid.

Just as she looked at her watch for the sixth time, she caught sight of Draco walking swiftly towards her from the cab he’d just climbed out of. They walked in near-silence for a while, till they were within sight of their destination.

“You still haven’t told me about the man we’re looking for,” Hermione pressed, hurrying along by Draco’s side.

“Well, first off, if he _is_ here, he won’t be in the same place as the last time I saw him. He moves about quite a lot. He’s our man, though.”

“What do you mean, ‘he’s our man’?” Hermione asked under her breath while directing an avid gaze in the direction of the stalls.

Draco took her elbow and moved the two of them further along. The entrance to the marketplace was just ahead. They passed under the now-familiar stone arches, melting into the throngs of people streaming through the narrow, densely packed streets.

Vendors hawked their wares, calling invitations to the passing shoppers. They nodded as Hermione and Draco walked by, smiling and gesturing to the many goods they had on display.

“Well,” Draco began, _sotto voce_ , pausing at a stall selling hookahs. Picking one up, he turned it over in his hands, examining it as he spoke. “He’s a Guardian. Looks every bit of two hundred years old, but I reckon he’s even older than that. It falls to him to protect the wizarding community here in Cairo by keeping it hidden from outsiders. Only he knows where the entrance is.” Draco shook his head, bemused. “Damnedest thing, though… it’s never in the same place twice. Anyway, I’m hoping he might have some answers for us.”

“Or if not, that somebody else will,” Hermione muttered. The hookahs were really quite beautiful, finely crafted and ornate. She decided she’d like to bring one home as a souvenir. A particularly lovely one caught her eye and she reached for it, only to discover that Draco was already moving away from the stall. Breaking the cardinal rule of bazaar shopping, she hastily thrust the asking price of the hookah into the surprised hands of the stall owner and hurried to catch up.

“You do know they expect you to haggle,” Draco remarked conversationally, not even breaking his stride.

Hermione could swear she spotted the beginnings of a smirk. And once again, she felt a complete fool. “Yes, of course I know that! What do you take me for, an idiot? It’s just that you were already leaving and I d–”

Draco held up a hand. “Ssh. What did you pay for it, anyway?” Without waiting for her reply, he turned the hookah over and looked at the price tag, then shook his head. “Shame. You could’ve got this for half. Have you ever even used one of these things? Bet you haven’t.”

Now he really was smirking, full on. _Wanker_. “I have, too! Lots of times.” Hermione stuck out her chin defiantly and marched on to the next stall, not looking back.

Draco watched her go, his mouth twitching. _Ridiculous woman. Can’t be told anything, can’t take a joke, so bloody serious all the time. What she needs is a good…_

His thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a crow of triumph as Hermione sauntered back towards him, another purchase in hand, She waved a turquoise shawl under his nose, and he caught the beguiling scents of jasmine and vanilla.

“I _haggled._ Got a really good price for it too, I’ll have you know. So there!” Wrapping herself in the shawl’s silken folds, she flounced away, leaving Draco to shake his head and grin.

They meandered slowly through the marketplace, Hermione following Draco’s lead for the most part, stopping here and there to inspect an item hanging from a rack or crammed in amongst its fellows on a crowded display table. Even as they examined the wares, chatting with the vendors and engaging in friendly barter, Hermione could see that Draco was keeping a constant eye out for the man he sought.

Then suddenly she felt his fingertips lighting briefly on her shoulder and his breath tickling her neck.

“There. Across the way, under that red canopy. That’s him. Alim Sawalha.”

She peered in the direction Draco had indicated, shielding her eyes against the strong mid-afternoon sun. Through the glare, she could make out a man hunched over in a rickety chair.

He wore flowing robes and a woven cap on his head. His hair was short and snow-white with age, his skin dark, and he had a long, scraggly, white beard reaching to his waist. On his feet there were worn leather sandals. As they approached, she could see that his skin was leathery too, his face covered in deep wrinkles like fissures in dry earth, his fingers bent and gnarled like the branches of an ancient, stunted tree. His eyes, when he raised them to peer at the young man and woman standing before him, were rheumy and clouded. And yet, he smiled.

“I have been expecting you.”

 

*

 

Hermione looked quickly at Draco, her eyes very round, and then back at the old man who gazed steadily at the two of them.

“Help me up, please,” he grunted, gripping the back of the chair with one withered hand and reaching for support from Draco with the other. He rose from the chair with some difficulty, chuckling softly as he did so. “My old bones do not like change and they complain if I surprise them suddenly. Hand me that staff, young man.” He pointed to a long, carved stave, smooth from many years of handling, that leaned against the stone buttress behind him. Dutifully, Draco reached for it and handed it to the old man, who gripped it tightly and hauled himself into as much of an upright position as his body would allow.

“Come, children,” the old man said, gesturing with his free hand while inching forward, his weight supported by the tall staff. “Follow me. We will have tea, I think, and talk for a bit. There is much to discuss.”

Making painfully slow progress, the man made his way through a darkened alleyway that opened on an inner courtyard. In one corner, there was a narrow flight of winding stone steps, irregular and worn with age. Stopping momentarily, the old man turned his head, cocking it to one side, and beckoned to Hermione and Draco once again.

The halting movements were difficult to watch, but Hermione couldn’t help admiring the pluck and tenacity of the old man, who clearly was in pain with every step and gesture. A very, very old wizard, possibly quite a lot older, even, than Dumbledore had been when he died. A Guardian, Draco had said. A keeper of great knowledge. Hermione wondered what information he had to share with them. She shivered suddenly, a chilly finger of uncertainty touching her spine.

When they reached the top step, the old man raised his staff and lightly tapped a wooden door, its paint peeling with age and its iron hinges rusting.

“ _Iftah ya simsim_ ,” he whispered. A moment later, the door swung open several inches, the hinges creaking. He turned to regard his two guests with an impish grin.

“A silly parlour trick. Please forgive an old man’s whims. This is actually my home.”

“You mean… you could’ve just… opened the door,” Hermione said slowly, and she found herself smiling back.

“Indeed,” he nodded, and his smile was a bit sheepish now. “Please. Come inside.”

The room they found themselves in was dim, its shutters drawn against the heat of the day. Thin shafts of sunlight found their way in, painting the darkened room with narrow bars of gold. The room was sparsely furnished with only a wooden chair, a pair of folding tables, and a small, lumpy-looking sofa that stood against one cracked wall. In one corner, beneath a wall cupboard, a basin, a water pitcher, and a kettle rested on a smaller table along with some cutlery and a few dishes that were chipped and cracked with age.

The old man gestured in the direction of the sofa. “Please. Sit.” Then he shuffled over to the cupboard, withdrew a ceramic pot and some cups, and filled the kettle with water from the pitcher. Waving his hand once over the kettle, he nodded to himself in satisfaction and then proceeded to spoon loose tea from a tin into the pot. He hummed tunelessly to himself as he poured steaming water from the kettle into the pot, and then turned to Hermione and Draco.

“How do you take your tea?”

Moments later, the old man had settled into the chair that Draco had drawn close to the sofa, and the three of them were sipping hot, sweet tea from mismatched mugs.

“Mmm,” Hermione murmured. “Delicious! What sort of tea is this?”

“Ah, you like it. Something a bit special for the occasion. Black tea with licorice and peppermint, and just a hint of ginseng. Black Velvet. Very hard to come by. I save it for special guests.”

Draco smiled to himself but said nothing. He waited for the inevitable question and it came not three seconds later.

“Why are we special?” Hermione wondered, her brows drawn together quizzically. “I mean… why are we here?”

“You are here, both of you, because you have been Summoned. I take it,” he added, “that you met with my… shall we say… my emissary?”

“If you mean that pitiful, thieving excuse for a wizard, then yes. We did.” Draco grimaced, remembering the fleecing he’d taken. “Who is he, anyway?”

“His name is Sokkwi Fanous. He is not the most savoury of characters, it is true. I employ him from time to time, for minor errands that require a stamina I no longer possess. Did he ask you for money?”

Draco let out a mirthless laugh. “That’s putting it politely.”

“Ah. I thought as much. It does not surprise me. I confess, I half expected he would. I suppose, my dear children, that I make allowances for Sokkwi, because he lives on the fringes of wizarding society and scrapes together a living any way that he can. I regret that he took advantage of you when I had already paid him handsomely. Please accept my apologies.” The old wizard set his mug down on the nearby table and folded his hands. “Now. Returning to your question, young lady… as I said, you both have been Summoned.”

The gaze he directed at Hermione was almost startling in its naked honesty. In addition, there was something, a weightiness, to the way he pronounced the final word that sent another shiver down her spine. She opened her mouth to question the old man further, but before she could utter a word, Draco nipped in ahead of her, his earlier annoyance forgotten.

“ _Effendi_ , what can you tell us about the missing bowl?”

The old man set his mug down carefully and put his palms together, levelling a thoughtful gaze in Draco and Hermione’s direction.

“Allow me to show you instead. There,” he pointed, directing Draco to an object on the folding table. “Please. Thank you, my young friend,” he said, as Draco handed it to him. “Very powerful and very old, this mirror. Nearly five thousand years. See the symbols etched in its frame. It holds many secrets. It told me that you were coming, and also, it told me why.”

In a single movement, both Draco and Hermione leaned forward, breath held. The ancient wizard moved his hand over the mirror’s glass, which was clouded with blackened vapours that swirled like the shifting smoke of a fire in a strong wind. He made three passes and then waited while the vapours cleared and an image took shape.

It was the missing bowl. Just behind it, a pair of figures materialised: a tall, young man with fair hair and a petite, chestnut-haired girl with dark eyes.

“Wait!” the old wizard cautioned, holding up a claw-like hand, as Hermione and Draco shot a surprised look at each other. “There is more.”

As the three of them watched, the inside of the bowl filled with a cloudy, iridescent-green, gaseous stuff. Instantly, the true purpose of the bowl was clear.

It was a Pensieve.

“So it’s true, then,” Draco said slowly. “What we’ve heard about the bowl. The question is, whose Pensieve was it?”

Wide-eyed, Hermione gazed at the old wizard earnestly. “ _Effendi_ ,” she began, taking her cue from Draco’s earlier, respectful address. “Can you help us?”

Alim Sawalha smiled gently and gestured towards the scrying mirror. “See for yourself, young lady.”

The mists swirled once again, clouding the glass, until at last they gradually dissipated, a figure taking shape and becoming increasingly clear. It was a man. He was tall and imposing, his chest bare above a linen loincloth that extended to his knees. A heavy gold torque hung around his neck, bearing carved magical symbols. From the torque hung a single Ankh. The most singular thing about the man was that despite his great age, his eyes remained youthful and sharp, his dark gaze piercing. He seemed to look right through the young English wizards who stared at him, transfixed.

“See where he is standing,” Alim Sawalha murmured, pointing once again.

Stone walls, elaborately carved and painted, were the backdrop, and a decorated sarcophagus stood immediately behind the man.

In his hands rested the Pensieve.

“It’s his tomb,” Draco began slowly. “But who is he and where…?”

“Ah, now you see…” Alim replied, his voice soft. “With these questions, I can help you. In his lifetime, this man was known as Djed-djedi. He lived five thousand years ago, a court magician to the great Pharaoh Khufu, dwelling in the home of Khufu’s son, Prince Hordadef. Djed-djedi was a very powerful wizard. The story goes that after his death, he was accorded the great honour of a tomb in a _mastaba_ in Giza, adjacent to the Great Pyramid of his lord, Khufu.

“However,” the old man continued, warming to his subject now, his eyes alive with excitement, “in fear of such a great wizard’s tomb being desecrated and ransacked, as happened so often with powerful men, his pupils went into the tomb secretly and removed Djed-djedi’s remains, as well as the magical objects so necessary to his work as a wizard. Among them were his Pensieve, a scrying mirror, an amulet, a wand, scrolls containing spellwork, and a mortar and pestle for making potions. To safeguard their master’s remains and the other contents of his tomb, all of it was transported to a cave in a region that became known much later as the Valley of the Kings. In his original sarcophagus, they placed the mummified remains of a vagrant, and surrounded it with objects that looked, to the uninitiated, very like the real magical implements.”

“Merlin!” Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth. “Then that must mean _all_ of the objects up for auction were–”

“–from Djed-djedi’s tomb,” Draco finished. He sat back, astonished. “But how…?”

“They were found, at last, by… what do you call them? Those who disturb the dead in order to study them.”

Hermione’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Archaeologists, you mean.”

“Yes, exactly so. Archaeologists found the cave at last, and unearthed some of the objects that the young wizards had hidden so many thousands of years ago. Fortunately, they did not find Djed-djedi himself. But the things that belonged to him, objects that were so precious and held so much of his power… those things were found and taken away.”

“I don’t understand,” Hermione muttered. “We saw him holding the Pensieve. Does that mean he has it back? Is _he_ the one who stole it?”

“One cannot steal that which was rightfully his to begin with,” Alim reminded her gently. “He simply Summoned it back. But now… now he wants the rest of what belongs to him. That is where the two of you come in.”

“Hang on,” Draco said suddenly. “If he could Summon the Pensieve, why didn’t he do the same with the other things? Why does he need us at all?”

“As to the first question, I must confess, that is something I did wonder about as well,” the old wizard answered, shaking his head. “I suspect that there was a very limited window of time for him to re-Animate himself and do his work, and he only had time enough to recover the Pensieve before that window closed. And as for your second question…”

“I know why! It makes perfect sense, doesn’t it!” Hermione sucked in a breath, recognition dawning. “We have exactly the qualifications needed to help him perform that task. First, we have access to the objects– or at least, we know the auction house and have legitimate reasons to be there– _and_ –”

“We’re wizards,” Draco finished and then fell silent. Glancing over at Hermione, he caught her eye and she nodded briefly. Her face was sombre in the dim light of the old man’s room.

“And talented ones at that, I suspect.” Alim smiled. “I see you have finished your tea. Good.” Slowly, carefully, he rose from his seat, leaning heavily on his staff for support. “If you need my help again, you have only to ask. Look for me in the bazaar. I am usually there.”

“But wait…” Hermione protested, suddenly not ready to leave the old wizard’s comforting presence. “Assuming we can even get hold of the objects, how will we know where to return them? To the cave, or to his original burial place in the _mastaba?_ ”

“Good question, Granger.” Draco considered for a moment. “And if it’s to his original burial site, then that means…” He darted a quick glance at Hermione, whose eyebrows shot up as she realised where his thoughts were taking them.

“We’d have to move _him_ as well as his grave goods! _If_ we can find him! Gods! How on earth could we manage all that without being caught?”

The task, daunting as it had seemed when first revealed, now seemed utterly impossible.

“There are ways and there are ways,” Alim told her cryptically. “Do not fret, child. You and your young man will find what you need when the time comes. As I said, if you need my help again, seek me out. I am not difficult to find… if one knows where to look.” He winked and gestured towards the door. Clearly, they were to see themselves out.

The heat and glare of the mid-afternoon sun hit them foursquare as they stepped outside and made their way down the winding steps to the courtyard below. The noise and bustle of the bazaar rose up around them, everything the same as it had been before. And yet, it wasn’t. For two young English visitors to Cairo, everything had changed in the course of an hour on an apparently unremarkable Thursday afternoon.

 

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, mister_otter! You rock, Carol!
> 
>  
> 
>  _Iftah ya simsim_ — (Arabic) “Open Sesame”
> 
> One Galleon equals roughly £5 or $10. So the amount that Sokkwi the thief weaselled out of Draco amounted to £25, or $50.
> 
>  _Mastaba_ — “A type of ancient Egyptian tomb in the form of a flat-roofed, rectangular structure with outward sloping sides that marked the burial site of many eminent Egyptians of Egypt's ancient period. Mastabas were constructed out of mud-bricks or stone.”  
> Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mastaba
> 
>  _Effendi_ — Master, Lord, Sir. “Effendi, Effendy or Efendi (Arabic: أفندي Afandī; Persian: آفندی ) is a title of nobility meaning a lord or master.[1] It is a title of respect or courtesy, equivalent to the English ‘Sir.’ ‘Effendi’ is still used as an honorific in Egypt and Turkey.”  
> Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Effendi


	3. The Valley of the Kings

Thursday, late afternoon

 

“In all honesty, I can’t see that it makes the slightest difference which cave was excavated.” From behind his desk, Adrian Branson regarded the two young visitors seated opposite him with disappointment laced with a degree of scepticism. “When I heard that you were back here so soon… well, frankly, I must admit I was hopeful that you would have some concrete news for me, rather than just a question. Perhaps I was being premature.”

“Actually, Mr. Branson,” Draco began smoothly, just as Hermione opened her mouth to reply. “We have done some investigating, but as you would expect, a thing like this takes time.” He caught her eye with the barest of glances and she gave him a brief nod.

“Yes, you see,” she added, “we thought that perhaps if we knew the precise location of the dig, then we could trace other finds from the area and see where those objects have wound up. There might possibly be a connection.”

 _Good one, Granger._ Even as Draco was nodding seriously at Branson, his hand found its way into Hermione’s lap and gave hers a quick squeeze of approval.

His skin was pleasantly warm, the spontaneous contact completely unexpected, and Hermione felt her cheeks heating in a blush. Bugger, why did she always have to wear her emotions on her face? Harry had told her once that she made a rubbish poker player because she could never hide the way she felt. Probably red as a beet by now, damn it.

The blush briefly pinking her cheeks slipped past Branson completely, but did not go unnoticed by the man who had caused it. Still so easily embarrassed, wasn’t she. He remembered how consistently entertaining that had been over the years when they were at school. But now… now he had to admit to another reaction as well, a certain gratification that _he_ had elicited such a response from Hermione Granger. And it was pretty, really, that colour high on her cheeks, in contrast with skin that– now that he actually looked– was like the smoothest porcelain dotted with tiny, pale freckles across the bridge of her nose and beneath the blush. Surprisingly pretty.

With some effort, Draco returned his attention to Adrian Branson and the matter at hand, fixing him with his most earnest expression.

“Look, it’s a place to start, at least. Humour us, okay?”

The pair of them seemed so sincere and eager to help, and after all, their expert assistance was the reason he had engaged them in this search in the first place. Branson nodded and wordlessly tapped an address into his computer. A moment later, the desired screen came up and he scanned it quickly.

“Ah, yes. There. The site is designated as New Tomb KV64.” He cleared his throat and began to read. “ ‘Official disclosure to the media of the discovery of a previously unknown tomb was made by Dr Zahi Hawass on 5 April 2008. The cache, hidden in a rock tomb, was uncovered in the Kings’ Valley by a team of privately financed excavators. An intriguing new discovery, it is the first since 2006, when another tomb of indeterminate origin was found, and only the second since Howard Carter found the Tomb of Tutankhamun in 1922.’ ” Branson leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “There you have it. I will print out a map of the excavation sites in the Kings’ Valley and you can take it from there. I hope such information will prove useful.”

 _More than you could possibly imagine._ Hermione smiled brightly and held out her hand to the auction house director. “Thank you, Mr. Branson. We hope so, too.”

 

Later–

They walked for a while in pensive silence, heading in the general direction of both the hotel where Draco was staying and the small wizarding establishment where Hermione had a room.

“Reckon we ought to make an early start tomorrow,” Draco remarked presently. “It’s a fair distance from here to Luxor. At least six hours if we travel by car or train. Maybe more.”

“What about Apparating? Or the Floo Network? Wait, _is_ there one here?” Hermione wondered suddenly. Nothing could be taken for granted, she realised.

Draco shrugged. “There are places within Cairo, yeah. Your hotel might be one, come to think of it. But I’ve no idea if we’d find a Floo point down in Luxor. Alim could tell us. And we’d have to be really careful about Apparating. Egypt is crawling with tourists. Wouldn’t want to suddenly appear out of thin air in front of a load of people in Bermuda shorts and trainers.” The scenario was as unthinkable as it was ridiculous.

“Then again,” he went on, straight-faced, “we could always get there by hot-air balloon…” He cast a quick, sidelong glance at Hermione.

The mental image of Malfoy sailing around in a hot air balloon was ridiculous, the notion of herself in that situation rather terrifying. He was joking, surely. She gave a nervous giggle. “Hah. I dare you to do that!”

Folding his arms, he flashed her a cocky grin, but his eyes were dancing with mischief. “You think I wouldn’t? Might I remind you, Ms. Granger, that you are talking to one of the best and most fearless Seekers Hogwarts ever had? I’ve got no problem being high up in the air. You, on the other hand–”

“Okay, okay, point taken!” Hermione rolled her eyes, laughing genuinely now. “ I suppose you’re right about getting an early start, no matter how we decide to travel. I expect it could take quite some time to find what we’re looking for.”

“Or _who_ ,” he put in quietly. The very thought of what might lie ahead was sobering and yet exciting as well. He wondered if she were feeling the same small thrill he was experiencing in the pit of his stomach, as he anticipated the adventure that was about to unfold.

“Yes, well…” she murmured. They had just arrived at the small bed and breakfast hotel where she was staying. “I’ll… I’ll see you in the morning at your hotel. Meet you in the lobby at seven, yeah?”

“Seven,” he echoed.

He waited until she disappeared inside the small courtyard of the modest, little house. “Goodnight, Hermione,” he said quietly, watching the door of the house shut behind her. Then, shoving his hands into his pockets, Draco turned and walked on.

 

*

 

Friday morning  
4 June

 

The day dawned bright and hazy. It would be yet another unbearably steamy one in Cairo. At seven sharp, Hermione pushed open the glass doors leading into the lobby of the Four Seasons Hotel and scanned the room quickly, searching for Draco. She found him seated on a plush sofa in a corner, half-obscured by a large, potted fern. Spotting her, he gave a brief wave and beckoned her over.

“Before we leave, there’s something I want to show you,” he told her, taking her arm.

“Don’t you think we should just get going? I mean–” Hermione began.

Draco paused, rolling his eyes and heaving an impatient sigh. “Look, Granger, how often is it that you find yourself in an exotic place like this? Surely you can spare sixty seconds for something that is, I promise you, quite remarkable. And besides, we won’t need as much time to get to Luxor as I’d thought.”

“Why not?” Hermione wriggled out of his grasp and waited for an answer.

“Patience, woman!”

Passing marble columns and elegantly upholstered chairs and settees, statuary and huge floral arrangements, they reached the far end of the lobby, where there was a huge picture window. Pulling back the drapes, Draco pointed and smiled. “Look!”

There before them– beyond the thick, green fringe of canopy from the adjacent zoological gardens, beyond the twinkling lights of the city– were the Pyramids of Giza. Rising up against the backdrop of a hazy, brilliant sunrise, they stood: ancient houses of the dead, the silent, immutable keepers of mysteries as old as time.

“Oh!” Hermione breathed, and involuntarily, she moved a step closer. She could not take her eyes off the tableau before her. Beside her, Draco gazed his fill, stepping closer as well, so that for just a moment, his hand grazed hers.

“I never tire of it,” he said softly. “It’s one of the reasons I love it here.”

“I can see why. They’re magical,” Hermione murmured, still staring.

“They are. Quite powerful magic too. I expect we’re going to see a lot more of that today. If we can pull this thing off, that is.” Draco dropped his voice, moving even closer and dipping his head so that she could feel his warm breath ruffling the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. “Look, after I dropped you at your hotel yesterday, I went back to the bazaar and talked to Alim again. He gave me this.” Pulling a stone roughly the size of a golf ball out of his pocket, he held it out for Hermione to see. Carved and painted all around with ancient symbols, it had a small hole in the centre.

“Amulet? Or no, wait… Portkey, I bet!” she whispered excitedly.

Draco slipped it back into his pocket, nodding approvingly. “You catch on fast. This will take us just inside the mouth of the cave where Djed-djedi was buried. We’ll still have to do some searching once we’re in there, of course, but this will save us hours of time. Have you eaten?”

Hermione gave a quick nod. “Mmm. Had some tea and toast, that’s about it. I’m too excited to eat, though. My stomach’s in knots!”

Draco grinned crookedly. “Yeah, mine too. Well… reckon we should get started. Come on.”

Moving quietly back through the sleepy hotel lobby, they took the lift up to Draco’s suite. Once inside, he took Hermione’s hand, holding it tightly, and withdrew the Portkey from his pocket. “It’s time-activated. We’ve got to use it…” He checked his watch. A quarter past seven. “… _now._ ”

The familiar sensation of being violently yanked off one’s feet and sucked through a tunnel at warp speed enveloped both of them and in the next instant, they found themselves standing in a darkened, rock-bound chamber at the top of a flight of rough-hewn stone steps.

“Got your wand?” Draco whispered. “We’ll need as much light as we can muster.” Withdrawing his own from the inside pocket of his jacket, he murmured, “ _Lumos!_ ”

A moment later, a spot of white light bloomed from the tip of Hermione’s wand as well. She looked at Draco breathlessly, eyes sparkling and a flush of excitement colouring her cheeks.

“Right.” Slowly, he began to make his way down the steps. “Take care how you go here. Looks damned steep.”

They made slow but steady progress down the steps until suddenly, Hermione slipped on a bit of loose gravel. Lurching forward abruptly, she clutched at the back of Draco’s jacket, clinging to him for dear life.

“Sorry,” she muttered shakily, flushing. Regaining her balance, she let go and made an awkward, futile attempt to smooth down the fabric of his jacket. “I’ll be more careful.”

“Here,” he replied, holding out his hand to her. He seemed oblivious to her acute chagrin. “Let’s not take chances.”

Still keenly embarrassed, Hermione gratefully accepted his hand, trying to focus on the steps before her and nothing else. They descended the remaining steps to the bottom and found themselves before a long, narrow corridor with a low ceiling. Holding their wands out before them, Draco stooping slightly, they entered the corridor cautiously, making sure of their footholds with each step. The tomb was preternaturally quiet, the weight of its extreme age bearing down almost palpably upon the two young mortals who had chosen to enter it.

A third entrance loomed at last. They halted before it, slightly breathless with anticipation.

“Okay, this should be it. No clue what we’ll find here, apart from the Pensieve.” All that could be seen of Draco was an eerie display of illuminated eyes, forehead, and a fringe of pale hair. The rest of his face was in shadows.

“If we even find _that_ ,” Hermione replied. “What if we’re in the wrong place?” The question came out of her in a tiny wail.

“Relax, Granger. I trust Alim. He knows how important this is. He wouldn’t mess us about. Ready?”

She gave a quick, nervous nod and they stepped over the threshold into the final portion of the cache: the burial chamber.

 

*

 

The chamber was small, far more cramped than either of them had expected. To avoid bumping her head on the ceiling, even Hermione had to duck her head and proceed in a crab-like half-crouch.

“Nothing on the walls,” Draco remarked, holding his wand out and looking around at the bare slabs of limestone. “What we saw in the scrying mirror must have been his original tomb in the _mastaba_.”

“I suppose. Although maybe they didn’t have time to finish,” Hermione mused, holding her own wand out and examining what little she could see, her eyes narrowed into a squint.

“I bet it was something far simpler. What if they simply chose not to identify the man they’d buried here?” Draco replied. “Leaving him anonymous would have protected him.”

“Right,” Hermione said slowly. “Yes, of course.” And then, “Oh my gosh! Malfoy, look!”

She pointed at one corner, in which there appeared to be a scooped-out opening. Crouching down to inspect it more closely, her wand blazing a small trail of light inside, she could see a number of objects. A moment later, she could feel Draco’s presence close behind her, his own wand directing a thin stream of light into the open niche. Inside, they could make out four jars– canopic jars, Hermione guessed, traditionally used to contain the internal organs of the mummified human– several glazed vases, some loose beads, and the odd bit of granite and quartzite.

Plus one mortar and pestle, a wand, a loosely bound papyrus scroll, an amulet, a scrying mirror and a Pensieve.

They stared, riveted, for all of sixty seconds before falling back on their heels, Hermione clutching at Draco once again, this time in sheer excitement.

“It’s all there! Everything! How on earth…?” she hissed in astonishment.

Draco’s eyes hadn’t left the objects in the niche. He continued to look, and very gradually, a knowing smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Turning to Hermione, the light from his wand now illuminating the wall behind her, he opened his mouth to speak.

But before he could utter a word, something extraordinary happened.

“Merlin’s beard! Granger, look! Over there!” he said, his voice tense with excitement.

Whirling about, she followed his pointing finger and then simply stared, dumbfounded. Where a moment before there had been only a blank slate, now it appeared that a message was forming on the wall’s surface in ancient hieroglyphics.

“ ’Fraid I’m not going to be much help here.” Draco frowned. “Know anything about hieroglyphics?”

Hermione stood very still, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Yes,” she murmured, “in fact I do, a bit. Hang on, let me think.”

Meanwhile, the symbols were materialising fairly quickly now, as if the message sender were anxious that he make expeditious contact.

 

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=s-1.gif) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=e.gif) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=a-1.gif) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=r-10.gif) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=c-2.gif) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=Hh.gif)

 

“I think that first one’s an S,” she exclaimed. “The symbol is meant to suggest a folded cloth. And then, the reed… that can stand for an E or an I. The bird… that’s a vulture, and it represents an A.”

Haltingly, she went on to identify the last three letters that appeared, finally exclaiming, “ _Search_! That’s what it says. Search what, though?”

“Wait! There’s more!” Draco pointed to a second and third set of symbols rapidly forming on the wall below the first.

 

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=t2.gif) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=Hh.gif) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=e.gif)

 

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=Nn.gif) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=Ii.gif) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=c-2.gif) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=Hh.gif) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=e.gif)

 

As quickly as the symbols appeared, more followed.

“Hang on. I think I can save us some time,” Draco murmured suddenly, and drew his wand. “ _Transduce ad anglicam!_ ” As he did the incantation, he passed his wand over the message on the wall and the symbols melted away, their English counterparts appearing instead.

“ _Search the niche. Take the objects. Find the Pensieve,_ ” they read together.

“We’ve already searched the niche, so that’s done,” Hermione muttered. “But ‘find’ the Pensieve? It’s right there! And ‘take the objects’? Whatever could he mean?”

“Bloody hell!” Draco breathed. “I was right. I know what he wants us to do! Don’t you see, Granger?” He turned to her, elated. “This stuff is fake! The lot of it! Djed-djedi must have made it. He must want us to exchange these pieces for the originals!”

“Which he can then Summon back here, the way he did the real Pensieve! Yes, I see! Oh, but…” She blanched suddenly. “But Malfoy, that’s _fraud!_ We’d be lying, telling Branson we’ve recovered the bowl! Not to mention the fact that we’d be stealing the real artefacts and then substituting fake ones in their place! I don’t know,” she faltered, raking an agitated hand through her hair. “In good conscience, how can I even consider doing something like this? How can you?”

“How can we do anything else?” Draco replied evenly, catching her arm and forcing her to stand still. He looked her straight in the eye. “If we don’t do it, then a lot of very potent magical things really could get into the wrong hands. You know what I mean. Djed-djedi was one of the most powerful wizards who ever lived. We have to protect our own, Granger. Simple as that.”

A heavy silence fell in the rock-tomb. Resigned at last, Hermione nodded, sighing as she considered the situation. “I suppose,” she began slowly, “that since these replacements were made by the same man who made the originals, it’s not really cheating… is it? They’re not exactly modern knock-offs, not really. More like… like…”

“Clones. So that’s all right, then. Now…” Draco flashed her a cheeky grin. “… let’s see what else this old ghost has in store for us.”

On their hands and knees, they managed to insinuate the upper halves of their bodies into the niche in the wall, from which they withdrew the counterfeit Pensieve, along with the replicas of the objects that remained at the auction house. These replicas they grouped together on the stone floor of the burial chamber.

Then Hermione cried out in sudden surprise. “Malfoy, look! See that opening in the corner? I swear it wasn’t there a minute ago! I think…” she grunted, sliding her body in further, “that I can reach in there…”

Groping around, her fingers finally closed around an object just on the other side of the opening. Smooth, round and fairly weighty, it came away from its hiding place easily.

It was the missing Pensieve, and beyond it lay the mummified remains of Djed-djedi the magician.

 

*

 

Wrapped securely in its death shroud, the mummy of the man who had been Djed-djedi rested in a space that was just large enough to conceal his sarcophagus. This secret, sealed space within the larger burial chamber had ensured that even if the tomb were tampered with in any way, the magician’s remains would be safe. The grave goods that had been buried along with him had been stored in a separate, adjacent chamber, and they had been discovered. It had only been by chance that the archaeologists had missed finding Djed-djedi himself. Now, what belonged to him would have to be returned to the small space in which his mummy rested, and then the whole chamber sealed for eternity, somehow, against the curiosity and greed of the outside world.

Gleaming in the light of their wands, the Pensieve was a thing of rare beauty. And where it had been empty in Sotheby’s, now its silvery contents bubbled and roiled, sending gaseous wisps into the air. It was replete, once again, with the memories of a man who had walked the earth five thousand years earlier, his own lifespan enduring hundreds of years.

“Do you suppose,” Hermione wondered, “ now that we’ve finally found the real Pensieve, that Djed-djedi wants us to do more than just look at it?”

“You mean, does he want us to actually use it? See a memory of his?” Draco shrugged and then grinned wickedly. “Reckon I’m game if you are.”

The light was dim in that tomb, but Hermione could have sworn that he’d just winked at her. And then her natural curiosity overcame any lingering hesitation. “Let’s do it!” she agreed.

Carefully lifting the Pensieve to a natural rock ledge where it could stand securely, Draco beckoned Hermione over with a slight wave of his hand. She moved quietly to his side and together, they lowered their faces till they were just above the bubbling, silver liquid and peered into its murky depths.

For a moment or two, nothing was visible apart from the gaseous effusions that continually rose from the liquid’s surface. And then the vapours cleared away, and they were able to see, in the depths of the Pensieve, something that very much resembled a scene from a play, or perhaps a dream sequence.

A group of men were assembled in a lavishly appointed room. They sat together on cushions and pillows. One of them was clearly their liege lord, for the others sat at his feet. Several slaves stood close by, fanning the men with large palm leaves.

A young man, of noble birth himself, stood and was now speaking.

 

 _"... But there is a man, your Majesty, of your own time but unknown to you, who is a great magician."_

 _The king replied, "Who is this man, Hordedef my son?"_

 _The prince answered readily. " Djed-djedi is his name. He is a commoner who lives at Djed-djed-Sneferu. He is a man of many years–one hundred and ten, so they say. Every day he eats five hundred loaves of bread, has a haunch of ox for his meat, and along with that, he drinks one hundred jugs of beer. He is able to reattach a severed head, and he can make a lion follow him with its leash on the ground. And he knows of the secret chambers in Thoth's temple."_

 _“Bring this magician to me,” the king told his son. “Perhaps he will tell me what he knows about those secret chambers that I might construct the chambers of my pyramid in their likeness.”_

The mists swirled once again, obscuring the view for a couple of moments, and then the clouds dissipated. But this time, the scene that opened before Hermione and Draco was that of a humble house, where Prince Hordedef was speaking with another man.

 _“Come with me to the palace, Djed-djedi,” the prince implored the other man, “and you will be amply rewarded with all manner of marvellous things, everything you and your family could possibly desire.”_

The vapours rose one final time, and then cleared to reveal the magician speaking with the king.

 _"Djed-djedi,” King Khufu asked, “why have I not seen you before this?"_

 _Djed-djedi replied, "When one is called, one comes, Oh my gracious King, may you live, prosper, and be well. You have summoned me and I have come."_

 _The king stroked his beard thoughtfully, and then asked, "Is it really true that you know a way to reattach a severed head?"_

 _The magician answered readily. "Yes, I am the one who knows, Oh Sovereign, my lord, may you live, prosper, and be healthy."_

 _“Ah! I will have a prisoner brought here, and you can demonstrate the skills you have described.”_

 _“I am most humbly sorry, sire, but I am afraid I cannot,” Djed-djedi responded, shaking his head. “As it is, I do not like performing such magic on an animal; I cannot in good conscience do it to a human being.”_

 _The king ordered a goose brought to the magician, so that he could demonstrate his magical skills on the bird. After a servant chopped off the goose’s head, it was placed on the east side of the courtyard, with the rest of the goose on the west side. Djed-djedi waved his arms and intoned an incantation, and immediately, the goose and its head began moving towards one another until they joined themselves together again. The bird let out a lusty honk and flapped its wings._

 _The king was astonished. “Bring another bird out!” he ordered. “Let the same magic be done again.”_

 _The scene repeated itself, much to the king’s delight and amazement._

 _“Let an ox be brought to me!” he commanded, and before long, an ox entered the room. Djed-djedi repeated the incantation and the ox’s head fell to the ground, only to float up once again and reattach itself to the ox’s body when he gave the spell._

 _Another incantation made a lion follow the magician on a leash, which startled and amazed his audience._

 _King Khufu leaned forward eagerly. “I see that you are a magician with rare gifts and much potent knowledge. Can you tell me about the secret chambers in the Temple of Thoth?”_

 _“Again, I must offer my humblest apology, Sire. I do not know of its design, only where the plans for it are located. They can be found inside a flint chest that has been buried in a tomb in Iunu.”_

 _“I must have this chest! I will order that it be found and brought here immediately,” the king said excitedly, clapping his hands together in triumph._

 _Djed-djedi shook his head. “Sire, this flint chest of which I speak can only be brought to you by the eldest of the triplets who, it is foretold, will soon be born to Raddjedet, wife of a priest of Ra. These children will one day inherit the kingship of Egypt. But do not fear. Your own son and his son after him will rule before a child of Raddjedet accedes to the throne.”_

 _The king fell silent for a moment, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Then he asked, “When will this woman give birth?”_

 _“On the fifteenth day of the first month of winter, O noble king, may you live long and prosper,” the magician answered._

 _His Majesty said, "By that time, the sand banks of the canal will be dry! I would have crossed over myself to see the temple of Ra, Lord of Sahbu."_

 _"Then, Sire, I will make four cubits of water over the sand banks so you may cross," said Djed-djedi, making a low bow of respect and gradually backing away._

 

The scene began to fade and roiling mists closed over the memory like a curtain across a stage. Hermione and Draco straightened, gazing at each other in amazement.

“Bloody hell!” Draco muttered, surprise still etched in his face. “Alim wasn’t exaggerating!”

“All the more reason to make the switch,” Hermione said quietly. “You were right, you know. Djed-djedi’s things really must be kept safe and out of the hands of people who wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to do with them–”

“Or more to the point, what _not_ to do,” Draco added ominously. “Picture it, yeah? Some rich old tosser gets hold of the wand, say, and decides he’s going to be clever and make magic.” He paused. “I shudder to think!”

Hermione nodded in fervent agreement. Then, her tone turning brisk, she said, “Right. Look… What about a Switching spell? If _we_ made the exchange right here and now, it would simplify things– and make them loads safer for us, as well. Could it work at this distance, d’you suppose?”

“Yeah, I think it just might work, considering the power contained in the original artefacts and the fact that the same wizard made both sets. There is residual magic of a sort even in the fakes, isn’t there,” Draco answered, flashing a quick grin in her direction. “Spot on, Granger. Brilliant idea.”

Hermione was surprised–and immediately chagrined–to find herself flushing with pleasure at the unexpected praise. ‘Get a grip,’ she scolded herself silently. ‘It’s just Malfoy.’ Giving herself a mental shake, she glanced at him, a question in her eyes.

At this, he inclined his head slightly in her direction and swept his right arm in a wide arc. “It’s all yours!”

Nodding, Hermione quickly moved the false Pensieve out of the way. Then she squared her shoulders and frowned in concentration. “ _Commutare positum!_ ” she intoned firmly, pointing her wand at the remaining five objects they’d found in the niche.

As they watched, the fake artefacts began to shimmer very much the way things do when one looks at them from a distance on a very hot day. Their edges became indistinct, almost seeming to dissolve in the glistening aura that grew around the circumference of the circle. It expanded like a bubble, moving upwards and enclosing the objects, until suddenly, the aura seemed to pop. Both Hermione and Draco leaned closer. To their relief, the objects looked precisely as they had before the spell. It was a safe bet that nobody would be able to distinguish them from what had been in their place only moments earlier. Which meant, of course, that nobody at Sotheby’s would ever know that the five “artefacts” currently under lock and key were now imposters.

“Well done, Granger,” Draco drawled, doffing an imaginary hat to her. “Of course, my swish and flick would have had a bit more panache, but…” He sighed theatrically. “Can’t have everything, I reckon.”

Automatically, Hermione began to frown in annoyance and then she happened to glance at Draco’s face. What she saw there took her completely by surprise. There was a teasing half-smile, and his eyes were dancing with laughter. Not _at_ her, though– instead, his amusement seemed uncharacteristically good-natured. Appreciative, somehow. Perhaps even… affectionate?

 _Right._ With that last bit, she realised she was probably reading far too much into it. But she felt fairly confident, at least, that there was no reason to take offence. “Sod off, Malfoy!” she told him airily. “My swish and flick has got buckets of panache!”

*

They’d arrived back in Cairo, via return Portkey, at just past three that afternoon. The genuine Pensieve was now safely back in the niche, along with the real wand, scrying mirror, scrolls, amulet, and mortar and pestle. The false Pensieve was safely secreted in the pocket of Draco’s jacket, having been Shrunk down to the size of a matchbook. Not to be outdone, Draco had demonstrated his own spell-casting prowess a second time.

Just as they emerged from the tomb into bright sunlight, there was a low rumbling from deep inside, and the sound of stones and loose earth falling. Draco glanced at Hermione, one eyebrow raised. What he was thinking at that moment was patently clear to her. She simply nodded and the two of them kept moving. They didn’t look back.

Now, they walked together through the crowded Khan, looking for an outdoor café at which to sit and have a cool drink and discuss the next step. Such a place presented itself before very long, and fortunately, it was small and a bit off the beaten track, not one that most tourists would seek out. They found a table far in the back, half in the shadows.

“Look, here’s the thing,” Draco began, his voice low. “We can’t very well just walk up to Branson with the Pensieve and say, ‘here you go, found it!’ ”

Hermione nodded, taking a long pull on her drink. “True. Though I have a sneaking suspicion you’ve already come up with something. Am I right?”

“Yeah, in fact, I have done. What I propose is that we wrap it up and leave it hidden somewhere, then phone in an anonymous tip to the police so that they’ll be the ones to recover it, no questions asked. Branson can think whatever he damn well likes about why it’s suddenly surfaced without a clue. For all intents and purposes, we’ll have had nothing to do with it. As far as he’s concerned, we’ve failed to turn up any leads.”

“Hmm.” Hermione furrowed her brow, tapping absently on her glass with a fingernail. “This is good. I like it. Maybe Branson will simply think the thief got cold feet when he realised he couldn’t unload the Pensieve without incriminating himself. It’s just too hot and not worth the trouble, so he dumps it and then phones in the tip. Brilliant, Malfoy!” She flashed him an enthusiastic smile, but it died away as quickly as it had appeared, as if she’d abruptly thought better of it.

Draco regarded her speculatively as she turned her head away and sipped furiously at her drink. He’d enjoyed the genuine warmth of that smile, and felt oddly deflated, somehow, when it had faded so suddenly. Swallowing his disappointment along with the remainder of his drink, he pushed back his chair.

“I’ve got this,” he said shortly, indicating the bill.

Together they stood and made their way out of the bazaar, neither of them really in the mood to explore the many colourful stalls. When they arrived at Hermione’s hotel, Draco stopped her with a hand to her arm. Startled, she looked first at the hand that encircled her upper arm and then up into his face.

“I was thinking… we probably should wait a day or two before leaving the…” He glanced around carefully and dropped his voice. “…the _thing_. It would be rather suspicious, don’t you think, if it suddenly turned up after going missing for only a couple of days. We could drop it somewhere on Sunday, yeah?”

“Okay,” Hermione said slowly, nonplussed. “But–”

“And… well… in that case, tomorrow’s a free day, isn’t it. Well, for me, anyway. What about you?”

Before she had a chance to reply, he rushed on. “I was wondering… seeing as neither of us has any plans…You don’t, do you?”

This was a Draco Malfoy Hermione had never seen before. He seemed uncharacteristically awkward suddenly, his thoughts halting and scattered. She shook her head no and he smiled.

“Good. Because it’s my birthday. And much as I think that birthdays are a lot of bollocks, really… since I am away from home, you’re a familiar face, at least. Bit of home, if you like. Better than being alone. No presents necessary. What do you say?”

 _‘You’re a familiar face, at least. Better than being alone.’ Well, really!_ Hermione folded her arms and glared at him. “Any port in a storm, is that it? I’m so flattered to know that my company is preferable to being alone, but only just. Tell you what, Malfoy. You can take your birthday plans and–”

“No, no, look, that didn’t come out at all right!” Draco raked a hand through his hair distractedly. “I mean to say… I would enjoy spending my birthday with you. I really would. Will you join me?”

Hmm… better. Hermione allowed him a tiny, grudging smile. “Yes, all right. What have you got in mind?”

“Nothing until early evening, actually. Meet me in the lobby of my hotel at half seven?” He looked at her expectantly, and suddenly, he looked so much younger than his nearly thirty years.

She nodded. “But… what will we be doing? How shall I dress?”

He smiled rather provocatively. “It’s a secret. But wear something a bit posh. We’ll be out for the evening.” And then he winked, and this time there was no mistaking it.

Later that night, as she sat on her bed and brushed her hair, she wondered just what the next evening would bring. Absently, her thoughts scattered, she pulled her hair into a loose ponytail, sweeping it off her neck with relief. The entire time she’d been in Egypt, it had been unruly and uncooperative due to the intense heat and humidity. She would be glad to get back to the cool green of England once again. At least there, her hair wouldn’t be a constant trial.

One last twist of the scrunchie and she was done. Lying down in the narrow bed, she stared up at the shadow patterns on the ceiling, her thoughts returning once again to the day’s events and especially to the strangely cryptic conversation she’d had with Malfoy and the invitation he’d extended.

 _Wear something a bit posh._

She smiled. There was a reason to wear her pretty new frock after all. With the smile still on her lips, Hermione fell soundly asleep.

Sitting on the balcony of his suite, Draco swirled the ice around in his nightcap. All of Cairo lay before him, the Nile on one side– black-velvet waters reflecting twinkling lights of the city– and the Pyramids on the other, constant and yet unfathomable in their mystery and great age. Overhead, the moon seemed huge and remote. In precisely– he checked his watch– eight minutes, it would be his birthday. Thirty years old. Incredible. How had he arrived at this point in his life still alone and with so little of real value to show for all those years?

Sighing, he downed the remainder of his drink. _Happy birthday to me._

Suddenly, he was very tired, craving nothing more than an escape into dreamless sleep. Leaving the Cairo night behind, he retreated to his bedroom and drew the drapes.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to my incredible beta, mister_otter!
> 
>  
> 
>  _Transduce ad anglicam!_ — (Latin) “Translate to English!”
> 
>  _Commutare positum!_ — (Latin) “Change places!”
> 
> The hieroglyphics in the story are real. However, I am no scholar of ancient Egyptian writing, and so, in order to create the magician’s message, I have taken admittedly creative liberties with the information I found. Read about these fascinating, ancient symbols here:  
> http://www.eyelid.co.uk/hiromenu.htm
> 
>  
> 
>  _Djed-djedi_ — The story of this powerful magician from Egypt’s Fourth Dynasty can be found in the Westcar Papyrus (c. 1500 BC), in the section entitled “Khufu and the Magicians.”
> 
> "Westcar Papyrus is a fragmentary ancient Egyptian text containing a cycle of five stories about marvels performed by priests and magicians. Each of these tales is being told at the court of the Pharaoh Khufu (r. 2589-2566 B.C) by his sons.
> 
> The surviving copy of the Westcar Papyrus consists of twelve rolls. It was written in the Hyksos period (18th to 16th century BC), but the tales appear to have originated some time in the 12th Dynasty of the Middle Kingdom. It has been used by historians as a literary resource for reconstituting the history of the 4th Dynasty.
> 
> In 1839, Henry Westcar, who had acquired the papyrus rolls in 1824 or 1825, gave them to Egyptologist Karl Richard Lepsius, who was, however, unable to decipher the text. The text was finally edited by Adolf Erman in 1890.
> 
> The papyrus is on display in low-light conditions in the Ägyptisches Museum, Berlin."  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Westcar_Papyrus
> 
>  
> 
> In addition, there is a fascinating tie-in between Djed-djedi and the Jedi of “Star Wars.”  
> http://www.maya12-21-2012.com/2012forum/index.php?topic=4651.0


	4. The Waters of the Nile

Saturday evening  
5 June

 

The day had dragged. More than once, Draco had checked his watch to make sure it was working properly. For a while during the late morning, he’d passed the time attempting to read a book he’d been enjoying. He’d spent a leisurely lunch hour dawdling over food he’d ordered from room service, and, his meal finished, the enormous flat-screen television and all the wondrous possibilities the remote control offered had kept him distracted and moderately entertained. But all the while, he’d felt fidgety as well, keyed up. At last, he’d ordered a drink, hoping to numb the nerves that persisted in plaguing him. A nap had filled a bit more time afterwards, but it had been a restless sleep.

Now, at last, he stood before the generous mirror in the bedroom of his suite, buttoning the crisp, black-on-black textured dress shirt and then sliding a favourite Italian silk tie around his neck, deftly knotting it. Slipping into the beautifully tailored sports jacket lying across the bed, he eyed his reflection critically, inspecting himself top to bottom, and decided he was satisfied.

He was in the lobby promptly at seven-thirty, sitting on one of the plush settees and scanning the large room with a touch of anxiety. She might not show after all, deciding that an evening with him was perhaps not the best idea, especially given their undeniably volatile and acrimonious history.

A few uneasy moments passed. Unable to sit, Draco jumped up and did a quick check of the lobby once again. Still no Granger, although there were quite a few very attractive women strolling about on the arms of men. Some entered from the lifts, ready for a night on the town, while others emerged from the bar, drinks in hand, on their way into one of four stylish restaurants the hotel offered.

A knot of people near some potted palms dispersed suddenly, leaving one young woman standing alone. Her back was to Draco, but he found himself studying her appreciatively while he waited for Hermione.

There was a willowy grace to her carriage, a certain sleek elegance. She wore a clingy, black tank dress with a scooped back and a graduated, handkerchief hem that fluttered about her calves.

Even at a distance, Draco could see that her skin was milk-pale and fine– bare back and arms, and, he would have bet, bare legs as well, beneath the filmy material of the frock. He could see even at a distance that those legs were slim and shapely above a pair of stiletto heels. Her coppery brown hair was cropped very short, accentuating the slenderness of her neck and the delicate bones of her face, of which he caught just a glimpse when she half-turned her head for a moment. She seemed waif-like and yet… intensely sexy. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

And then she turned all the way around, apparently searching the room just as he, too, had been doing.

 _Granger._

She spotted him just as he was attempting to disguise his shock. But he must not have hidden it as quickly or thoroughly as he’d hoped, because he could see a tiny grin beginning to lift the corners of her mouth as she walked towards him.

“Gods! What have you done to yourself?” Draco blurted out, and immediately wanted to smack himself in the forehead for his stupidity. “I mean… look at you! You’re… you’re…” His voice dried up in his throat and he stared, unabashed.

She was lovely. More than lovely. She was _stunning_.

“You’ve cut your hair,” he added lamely. _Brilliant observation, fuckwit._

She nodded. “Yes. I had it done this afternoon. It’s just been so hot, and really, I’d been wanting to for a long time anyway, so… I thought…” She touched her hair briefly with the tips of her fingers, darting an anxious look at him. “Is it all right? Do you like it? I was a bit nervous, but I–”

“It’s beautiful!” Draco interrupted, cutting her off in his haste to reassure her. _Idiot. What the hell is_ wrong _with you?_ “Honestly,” he murmured, really looking now, his breathing and heart rate returning to normal. “It’s amazing, Hermione.”

There was that delicate blush again, the one he’d noticed in Branson’s office, only now he was looking openly and truly seeing her. She gazed back at him with long-lashed, dark eyes that seemed even larger now, because of the pixie cut of her hair.

“Thanks. And happy birthday!” She gave him a bright smile. “So, um… where are we going?”

He’d almost forgotten. Stupid. He seemed to have lost his wits completely in the last five minutes.

“Oh! Right, of course,” he said sheepishly, and then laughed. “Where are my manners? Thank you. For the birthday wish.” He held out his arm.

Looking at Draco, his arm so elegantly proffered and a genuine, even slightly shy smile on his face, Hermione felt as if she were in a play, one that was beginning to feel more than a little bit surreal. Suddenly, she was very glad she’d had that rather generous cocktail while waiting for him. Somehow, the alcohol in her bloodstream had loosened her up enough that, bizarre as all of this was, she really didn’t care. She was even quite enjoying herself, most particularly the fact that he evidently thought her beautiful. She actually _felt_ beautiful, and empowered, too, watching Draco Malfoy floundering and knowing she was the reason.

She accepted his arm and they walked through the lobby of the hotel, turning quite a few heads along the way.

Outside, the evening had become refreshingly cool as the sun dipped lower in the sky. It would set before very long. The sky was already shot through with gold, pink, mauve and brilliant orange beneath banks of lavender clouds, all the colours mirrored in the waters of the Nile. Tiny lights sparkled, diamond-like, on the water from buildings up and down the river, and from brightly lit boats that moved slowly along like stately, water-borne palaces.

It was to one of the nearby docks that Draco led Hermione. Waiting for them was a beautiful sailing boat, a _felucca._ Sleek and white with a tall sail that fluttered in the breeze, the boat rocked gently, water lapping at its sides. In the bow, there was a likeness of a beautiful ancient queen. Her name was painted on its side: Nefertiti.

The captain, a steward, a small band of musicians and a pair of waiters stood by attentively. Candlelight flickered softly all over the boat, casting its interior in a warm glow, and fresh-cut flowers seemed to be everywhere.

“Welcome,” the captain said, beaming and extending his hand. Carefully, Hermione stepped onto the short gangplank and was helped aboard. Draco was just behind her. She could feel his fingertips grazing the small of her back.

“Please… make yourselves comfortable on the forward deck,” the captain told them, gesturing towards the comfortable, white chairs that graced the bow of the boat. “The first course of your dinner will be served shortly. Might I suggest a cocktail beforehand?” Gesturing to one of the waiters, the captain smiled once again and excused himself.

The view from the Nefertiti as the sun set in a molten-gold fireball over the river was one that Hermione would not soon forget. Reclining amongst silken cushions, a large drink in her hand and the wide river before her, she felt utterly relaxed and at peace with the entire world. Closing her eyes for a moment, she breathed deeply, giving herself over to the gentle rocking of the boat and the sweetly intoxicating fragrance of the many lilies and camellias.

Beside her, Draco leaned back, his hands behind his head, and watched the scenery move slowly past as the boat sailed along. The sun had nearly dropped below the horizon now, lighting the seam between water and sky with brilliant gold. Cairo’s night world was waking and stirring to life. But whatever people were busy doing on shore, here on the river they were in a world apart, serene and timeless.

He turned his head to gaze at Hermione. Her eyes were still closed, and her lips were curved in a soft smile. There was something different about her tonight. He’d never seen her this way before, and he struggled to pinpoint exactly what it was. And then it came to him. He’d never before seen Hermione Granger when she wasn’t consumed with work and being so very earnest and responsible and serious. He’d never seen her so completely relaxed– and absolutely _silent_. ‘Ha, now _that’s_ a first,’ he thought with a grin.

He’d also never before seen her looking so utterly breathtaking.

He decided that his spur-of-the-moment decision to invite her to share his birthday celebration was probably one of the better ideas he’d ever had. It had begun auspiciously enough. Perhaps she would continue to surprise him.

 

*

 

Somebody was gently touching her arm, running fingertips lightly over her skin. Hermione wished it would stop, because she was in the middle of such a lovely dream. She was on a beautiful white boat, surrounded by flickering candlelight and scads of colourful, fragrant flowers. There was soft music, too, possibly a lute, and she knew, somehow, that it was being played just for her.

The gentle touches persisted. Somebody was determined to rouse her out of the remnants of the dream that she was still clinging to.

Drowsily, Hermione opened her eyes a crack and then all the way. It hadn’t been a dream, after all– it was real, the boat and the flowers and candles, the music… everything. The man who had awakened her now sat by her side in an adjacent deck chair, an amused grin on his face.

“It’s about time, Sleeping Beauty!” Draco drawled, lounging back against the cushions. “I don’t believe I have ever had a woman quite literally fall asleep before we’ve even had dinner. Bored you already, have I?”

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth in horror. “Oh my gosh, Malfoy, I am so sorry! How rude of me, and on your birthday too!”

“Well, I reckon I can forgive you, as long as you don’t have your head in your plate whilst we’re eating. Oh, and one more condition– no more ‘Malfoy,’ or at least not tonight anyway. It’s ‘Draco.’ ”

His playful smile was disarming. She noticed, too, that the fingertips tickling the skin of her arm had migrated north to her bare shoulder and were now stroking her very softly and sensually there. It felt lovely, and more than that, it had ignited a certain nervous flutter in her stomach that was thrilling at the same time. She felt her breath catch in her throat.

Draco had not failed to notice the effect he was having on Hermione. On the outside, he maintained the same cool demeanour, but on the inside, he was elated. He’d put her on edge in a way that pleased and excited him. A small frisson of electric energy had been kindled, and he wanted to carefully tend that low flame, keep it on a slow burn for the next couple of hours or so, until it became an exquisite torture for both of them.

Hermione nodded, her smile tremulous. At the moment, she was finding it difficult to breathe properly, much less speak. “All right… Draco.”

“Good,” he smiled, satisfied. “Now. If I am not very much mistaken, the first course of our meal has just arrived.” He cocked his head in the direction of the stern. Approaching the felucca was a small speedboat, water spraying out on both sides of the path it cut through the river, and a trail of frothy white foam in its wake.

“Our dinner is being brought on… _that?_ ” Hermione was incredulous. “Do you mean to say…”

“That each part of our meal will be delivered separately, by speedboat, over the course of the evening? Yes. Do you like the idea?”

“Very much!” Hermione was still wide-eyed as she watched several covered serving dishes being handed up to the waiting crew of the felucca and then spirited away. “I’ve never had a meal quite like this before!”

“Something a bit different, anyway. I thought you might like it.” Draco’s pleased smile seemed sweetly winsome and rather boyish, as he stood and offered her his arm.

Accepting it, Hermione rose from the nest of cushions on which she’d spent such a restful hour, and the two of them made their way up a small set of steps to a table that had been set up on the enclosed upper deck. Large pots of flowering plants festooned the deck and there was an elaborate centerpiece on the table itself, surrounded by flickering tea lights. Their intoxicating scent perfumed the air.

They sat facing each other across the elegantly set table, not speaking. Hermione rested her chin in her hands, her fingers laced together, and gazed out at the river and its banks, tiny pinpoints of light against the blackened backdrop of the Cairo night. High in the star-studded sky, the full moon glowed nearly gold.

“Is your life always like this?” she asked him suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. “All this luxury and privilege. It’s…”

“Overwhelming?”

She nodded, taking a sip of the champagne that had just been poured for them. “Something like that.”

He laughed softly. “I can see why you might feel that way. But for me, it’s just the way life has always been for as long as I can remember. It must seem excessive to you. In all honesty, though, I don’t think I even notice it half the time, not anymore.” He paused, then added quietly, “I suppose you must think me horribly spoiled.”

Hermione sighed. “I did once. Now I’m not so sure.”

That was Granger, almost brutally honest because she didn’t know how to be anything else. But he found he rather liked it. Her candour was refreshing. Any other woman would have lied, drowning him in a sea of flattery and then throwing herself at him. It was a novel change that for once, his wealth wasn’t what mattered to the woman he was with. In fact, if anything, he suspected that his money and all its attending privileges might actually be more of a liability as far as she was concerned.

“Well,” he laughed, “I reckon that’s something at least. There’s hope for me!”

Just then, the waiter arrived bearing a large silver tray. On it were chilled prawns in a piquant, red cocktail sauce and a plate of stuffed grape leaves in olive oil.

They ate in silence for a few moments. Forking up a bite of the shrimp, Draco surveyed Hermione curiously. He decided to chance a leap into possibly risky waters. “Who ended it, that bloke you were engaged to? Or you?”

That wasn’t a question Hermione had been expecting. Startled, she swallowed the bit of prawn she’d been chewing. “He did,” she admitted, looking down at her plate. “I thought– well, I suppose I was under the delusion– that everything was fine. I had no idea that he’d been… so unhappy. I’d even started planning the wedding and shopping for a trousseau. Then, one day, I had a letter from him. He said… he said he couldn’t go through with it. He was having serious doubts about whether we could really make a go of it. He felt he wasn’t important enough to me. I was already married to my work, he said. And that would never change because…” Her lower lip trembled slightly. “Because _I_ was incapable of changing.”

“Maybe your work came first because he was the wrong man for you,” Draco said quietly.

She sighed. “Yes, well… I didn’t realise it at the time, but there were so many signs that we weren’t a good match. He didn’t share or even understand my passion for history and beautiful old things. We did have some things in common, but they weren’t enough in the end.” She laughed then, but it had a bitter ring. “Suppose I’m lucky, really, not to have made such a huge mistake. What about you, then? You said you’d come close twice. How come you didn’t take the plunge?”

“Simple.” Draco shrugged lightly. “They cared more for my money and my position than they ever did for me. Reckon the pre-nup both of them insisted on was the deal breaker, though. I went along with it because so often, it’s what people in my social circle do. Everyone takes it very much for granted now. But I’ve never liked the practice, not really. Seems so cold-blooded. I was the one who backed out the first time. The second time, I got dumped.”

“Why?” Hermione asked, startled.

“We couldn’t come to terms, and she made it clear that unless I agreed to what she wanted, the marriage was off. At that point,” Draco said, flashing her a cheeky grin, “I was more than happy to see the back of her. Didn’t fancy having the ring chucked at me, though. Bloody thing hit me right in the face, close to my eye. Left a scar. See?”

He leaned forward, touching the spot where the scar was, and automatically, Hermione moved closer to look. This close up, she could see the beginnings of very tiny lines around his eyes in otherwise smooth, tanned skin. The small place near his left eye where the ring had hit him was a paler colour, almost white. But his eyes… they were such a soft, lambent grey…

 _Steady on._ She sat back once again, slightly flustered, and laughed. “Lucky for you that she had such bad aim. You could have lost an eye!”

“Oh no, her aim was spot on. It’s my reflexes I’m damned thankful for!”

They both laughed then, and listened as the speedboat made a second appearance, positioning itself alongside the felucca to deliver their next course.

 

*

 

The champagne flowed freely, and the richly exotic food continued to arrive at regular intervals, leaving them just enough time in between to rest and recover before attacking the next course.

There had been a wonderful tomato soup with pesto and fresh ricotta cheese, followed by pecan-crusted Norwegian salmon with a tomato gratin and herbed potatoes. Finally, there had been a luscious and altogether decadent chocolate blackout cake buried under mounds of dense whipped cream, accompanied by steaming cups of rich espresso.

After dinner, both Hermione and Draco fell back in their chairs, happily sated. Overhead, stars winked in a vast, black sky, and a light breeze ruffled their hair. The only sounds were those of the water slapping against the sides of the sleek, white craft and the muted strains of guitar and lute from the musicians who plied their instruments at a discreet distance from the young couple at the table.

Hermione leaned back, resting her palm on her stomach and sighing contentedly.

“Phew, I’m _full_ ,” she murmured, and then she giggled. “And just a wee bit tipsy, too, I think.”

“No, really?” Draco chuckled wryly. He held up the champagne bottle, peering closely at it before declaring, “Empty. That makes two. And they were generous bottles. Plus the cocktails we had earlier. I’d say we’ve managed to polish off a fair bit of drink tonight, Granger.”

“ _Hermione_ ,” she corrected, shaking a playfully reproachful finger at him. “Fair’s fair. If you want me to call you Draco, then you must call me Hermione.”

“Hermione,” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Draco had moved his chair closer, so that now, his arm rested alongside Hermione’s on the chair arms, only a fraction of an inch separating them. He could feel the seductive heat of her skin so close to his. Casually, he positioned his arm even nearer, so that the slight distance separating them was now bridged and their arms were pressed together. With one finger, he began a slow, idle exploration of the back of her hand, tracing the rise of each knuckle and then dipping into the small, warm valley between each finger. She remained as serenely relaxed with the renewed contact as she had been before.

“You know,” he continued softly, encouraged, “we really ought to be on a first-name basis by now. We’ve only known each other for–”

“Twenty years, almost,” she filled in, her eyelids drooping just a little bit. She gave a luxuriant yawn and stretched, arching her back so that her breasts were pushed up and clearly outlined beneath the thin silk of the dress. “High time we used our given names, I agree. After all,” she added, slanting a suggestive look at him. “We’re no longer children, are we.” And then she stood, slightly unsteady for just a moment, and held out her hand to him, her eyes glinting dangerously. “Dance with me, Draco.”

 _Merlin_. She was full of surprises, it seemed. Rising to his feet, he took her hand, drawing her close so that their bodies were pressed quite intimately together from shoulder to knee. She put both arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder, sighing contentedly. The music invited a slow, swaying motion, and suddenly, there was nothing in the world but this moment. He was holding a delectable woman in his arms, her softly exhaled breaths warming his skin and her smooth, perfumed skin ready for his eager exploration and caresses. He bent his head, inhaling the fragrance of her soft hair.

“You are so lovely,” he murmured, and began to press delicate kisses to her neck as they moved.

“Mmm…” The purr came from low in Hermione’s throat.

The very sound excited him, and he pulled her closer. Then, burrowing more deeply into the curve of his neck, she ground her hips against him with a sinuous grace. They seemed rooted to the spot where they stood, swaying and clinging to each other, each drinking in the other’s scent and the feel of their skin, hands beginning to map the terrain of each other’s bodies.

Silk rippled like water under his palms, and imagining what was beneath it was doing pleasantly erotic things to Draco’s nether regions. Her breasts were pressed against his chest and he longed to peel back the thin fabric of her dress and claim them.

Hermione seemed curiously oblivious to the effect she was having on him, or so it seemed. However, to his great delight, it appeared that she was single-mindedly pursuing an agenda of her own, her hands having disengaged themselves from around his neck, moving south to explore his back and buttocks. Currently, she was cupping his bum in her hands, kneading and squeezing gently as they moved in place to the music.

He was almost painfully hard now, and it was all he could do to contain himself.

“Oh gods… _Hermione_ …” he breathed, and holding her face between his palms, he captured her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss.

Something broke in both of them in that moment, and whatever bets might have remained were suddenly, irrevocably off. With steps that were slightly unsteady, they made their way wordlessly down a short flight of stairs into the master cabin of the felucca, where a king-sized bed covered in a soft, white duvet awaited them.

“Hermione,” he whispered again, drawing her close and catching her lower lip between his teeth before kissing her once again. She responded eagerly, kissing him back with a passion that both surprised and delighted him. Slowly, they moved in tandem, their mouths still joined, towards the bed. Gently, carefully, he lowered her onto the duvet and then lay alongside her, gathering her into his arms.

Hermione reached up, tenderly placing her hands on Draco’s cheeks and drawing his face to hers. Then, she kissed him. The contact was whisper-soft at first, her lips just barely brushing across his. Then she traced a path with her tongue over his lips, inviting him to open his mouth. When he did, she slipped her tongue inside and found his, the warm, wet contact sending delicious tingles deep into Draco’s core.

At long last, they parted, breathless. Rolling onto his side, Draco reached for one of the crystal glasses that had been left on the bedside table as ordered. It contained a pale, amber liquid that fizzed gently. He took a sip and then, propping her up with a hand to the back of her head, he tipped a bit of the sparkling drink into her waiting mouth. She swallowed and then licked her lips very slowly and delicately, looking straight at him as she did so.

“Lovely,” she said softly. “May I have a bit more, please?”

“You may.” Draco held the glass to her lips as she finished the remainder of the drink. He grinned. “Like it?”

“Mmm, very much. What is it?” Hermione asked, as he stretched out beside her again.

“It’s a Bellini. Champagne and peaches.”

As he spoke, Hermione had busied herself with the buttons of his dress shirt. “Merlin!” she breathed at last, the final button undone and his bare chest exposed.

Pleased that she approved, he opened his arms to her, and happily, she curled up with her head against his chest.

“Malfoy…” she murmured into his skin between kisses.

“Draco,” he reminded her, sighing contentedly. “What is it, love?”

“ _Draco_ , yes. Sorry! I forgot!” She giggled and then scooted higher on his chest, closer to his ear. “Can I tell you a secret?”

He nodded, amused.

“Well,” she began conspiratorially, “when we were at school…” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I quite fancied you!”

Draco tilted his head slightly so he could see her face. He smiled lazily. “Did you now?”

She nodded earnestly. “Oh yes. I mean, I didn’t _like_ you at all. You were perfectly horrid most of the time. But gosh…” She giggled again. “You were _hot_.”

“And now?” he teased. She had resumed kissing his bare skin, moving down so that she was poised just above the obvious bulge beneath his trousers.

“Now?” she echoed, smiling evilly. “I think perhaps actions speak louder than words, don’t you?”

And with that, she had his flies unzipped and both his trousers and his boxers down around his ankles in a matter of moments. He lay there now in only his open dress shirt and a pair of dark socks, his cock flushed a deep rose colour and rigidly erect.

She sat back and stared, her mouth suddenly dry.

Laughing softly, Draco toed off his socks and wriggled out of his shirt. Then he looked at Hermione in mock dismay.

“Tsk,” he murmured, shaking his head. “You’re still wearing entirely too much clothing. We must do something about that.”

She nodded gravely and then one corner of her mouth quirked in a naughty smile. “Oh yes, I agree. Can’t quite manage on my own at the moment, though. I seem to be all thumbs.”

“Allow me to be of assistance,” he replied, a wolfish grin playing about his own lips. “My fingers are fully functional and I am ready to relieve you of this quite lovely…”

He slipped the straps of the tank dress down over Hermione’s shoulders.

“…but entirely superfluous…”

Then he gently slid the top of the dress down further, exposing the rounded tops of her breasts.

“… garment!”

In one final, swift move, he pulled the dress down all the way, and then he simply stared. Her breasts were now completely bared to his gaze.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he said faintly, swallowing hard. Somehow, he hadn’t anticipated this, not from Granger.

Hermione shook her head. “Didn’t need to,” she began. “Not with this frock. It’s got one built in…” And then she seemed to falter, acutely aware, suddenly, of where she was and what she was doing. A deep blush stained her cheeks, and her hands flew up to her chest in an effort to cover herself.

“Oh no, Hermione… no, don’t, please!” Draco reached for her wrists, gently drawing her hands away from her breasts. “Please don’t do that. You’re so beautiful, darling, don’t you know that?”

And she was, truly. Her breasts were perfect in his sight. Rounded and full, with rosy nipples already hardened with desire for him, they took his breath away.

“Really?” The question was a mere whisper.

“Let me show you,” he murmured, and all games were over in that moment. Bending his head, he took one of her nipples into his mouth and began teasing it with his tongue. At the sound of her in-drawn breath, he redoubled his attentions, his mouth on one breast and a gently caressing hand on the other.

Eventually, the dress joined Draco’s clothing on the floor, and she lay next to him clad only in her knickers.

Draco smiled roguishly, slipping a finger beneath the elastic band. “I must say, this is… _unexpected_.” He paused, appraising her thoughtfully a moment longer. “Roll over, love, would you?”

Reluctantly, she did as he asked, a hot blush building in her cheeks once again as she imagined what he must be thinking. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited. Gods. She felt a fool. How _could_ she have worn such a thing?

Her eyes still closed, Hermione was surprised to hear a quiet gasp. Looking at him over her shoulder, she saw an expression of pure admiration coupled with unbridled lust on his face. Suddenly, she was very glad indeed that she had decided to throw caution and old habits to the wind here in Cairo, and buy herself some sexy underthings at last.

“I do believe,” he murmured, his smile openly appreciative and still slightly awed as he gazed at her, “that these are the tiniest knickers I have ever seen in my life.”

And then his smile deepened, grew predatory. Without warning, he reached for the lacy little thong. “Let’s have this off as well,” he growled, pulling it down in one quick, fluid motion and looking at her bare arse hungrily. He tossed the thong onto a bedside chair. “I’ll keep that if I may.”

He wanted her very badly now. But something told him that he mustn’t rush. Bending close, he lightly touched his lips to one rounded cheek, reveling in the scented softness of her skin. Then he rolled her over, positioning himself atop her, and looked down into her eyes.

They were huge and dark in her small, oval face as she gazed up at him. This was a Hermione Granger he was meeting for the first time, a girl who didn’t have all the answers for once, who wasn’t so very strong and self-sufficient beneath the surface. She had been hurt, this he knew from the little she had told him, and she had thrown her guard back up afterwards. That guard was down now, he could see it in her eyes. She was trusting him– _him_ , of all people, with their history!– and there was something curiously touching in that faith. He wondered if he truly deserved it. All at once, looking into those wide, dark eyes, he very much wanted to.

He drew her close, nuzzling her forehead, her cheeks, her chin, the tip of her nose, and finally her mouth, placing tender kisses everywhere. “I believe I shall kiss each little freckle you have on the bridge of your nose,” he murmured, smiling, and commenced to do so.

Any lingering hesitancy seemed to dissolve utterly at that moment, and the smile Hermione gave him now was dazzling. Twining her arms around his neck, she drew him closer, kissing him ardently. Inexpertly too, perhaps, one small part of his brain noted, but that passion, like a flame that burned white-hot and pure, more than compensated for her naiveté.

He had never known anything quite like this. His desire was like a fever now, and it was all for her.

“Gods,” he whispered hoarsely. “Gods, Hermione…”

And then even those few words died away into the perfumed night. They sailed on, only the golden moon, a scattering of winking stars, and the timeless river bearing witness to their many acts of love.

 

*

 

Sunday   
6 June

 

Morning sunlight slanted, warm and butter-yellow, across the pillow. Somewhere in the distance, shore birds were calling, and there was the sound of an engine that seemed to be getting nearer.

It was lovely just to lie there, drowsing contentedly in warmth and comfort, the white cotton sheets soft against his bare skin. The bright sunlight pricked at his eyelids, but he kept his eyes closed just a moment longer, wanting to hold onto the dream he’d been having. There had been a girl– an amazing, astonishing, quite unexpected girl– and they had…

 _Wait. That was no dream…_

Just then, a discreet knock sounded at the door of the cabin.

Draco cracked open an eye, happily reaching for Hermione only to discover that he was alone in the big bed, and there was no evidence of her anywhere in the cabin.

Bewildered, he sat up, gathering the sheets around his naked body. “Come!” he answered dully.

The door opened partway and the steward poked his head in and smiled. “Good morning, Sir. Your breakfast has just been delivered. Shall I have it sent in, or would you prefer to dine on the sun deck? It is a beautiful morning.”

“Where is Miss Granger?” Draco demanded. He didn’t give a damn about breakfast. “Is she up on deck?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but no. She is not. The captain has instructed me to inform you that Miss Granger departed with the boat that brought your morning meal.” The steward shrugged apologetically.

“Was there a note? Anything?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. Would you like your breakf–”

“No,” Draco cut in, waving the steward away dispiritedly. “Thank you, no.”

The steward inclined his head respectfully and backed out of the doorway, closing the door quietly behind him. Outside, Draco could hear voices, as the crew of the felucca conversed. He moved to the cabin window, suddenly hopeful that maybe he could still stop her. In the distance, he could just make out the boat and a small figure seated inside it, speeding ever further away towards shore over the glistening wavelets. It was too late.

She was gone.

 

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks, as ever, to my wonderful beta, mister_otter!
> 
>  _Felucca_ (Arabic: فلوكةr) “A traditional wooden sailing boat used in protected waters of the Red Sea and eastern Mediterranean including Malta, and particularly along the Nile in Egypt, Sudan, and also in Iraq. Its rig consists of one or two lateen sails.”  
>  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Felucca
> 
> “Feluccas long ago transcended their role as humble transports. They held the ancient empire together, carrying troops, decrees, and the very mystery of the pharaoh.
> 
> Royal feluccas bore a larger-than-life image of the pharaoh, seated on a throne, to be seen and venerated by inhabitants even along the most remote canal. In turn, imbued with the same "ka," or spirit, as the living pharaoh himself, it would keep watch over his subjects and their activities.
> 
> So integral was the Nile felucca to the ancient Egyptian way of life that it assumed legendary attributes. Even today, you can see the oldest-known Nile felucca, the regal pharaonic _dahabeah_ of Cheops (Khufu), the ruler immortalized by the Great Pyramid at Giza. Known as the Solar Boat, it was believed to sail through the skies carrying its royal passenger along sunbeams in his single cabin, the royal suite of its day.
> 
> In later times, pashas, emirs, and sultans found that feluccas were indispensable. When Napoleon invaded Egypt, the Mameluke rulers observed the Battle of the Pyramids from their _dahabeahs_ , and in the wake of defeat, set them afire, still laden with treasures, in the middle of the river. Always one to adapt to local practice, Napoleon even had his own _dahabeah_ , the Italie, which was used by his officers to explore Upper Egypt.”
> 
> More information, as well as photos of luxury feluccas such as Draco booked for his birthday cruise, can be found here:  
> http://www.nubiannilecruises.com/egypt/royalcleo/royalcleohome.htm


	5. Residuum

Monday morning  
2 August

 

It was hot for August. England wasn’t supposed to suffer heat waves like this. Everything that was usually so green right through the summer was wilting now, turning a sad, sorry brown.

“Beastly!” Hermione muttered, fanning herself. Her small office at the museum had become an oven, even with the windows wide open. She sat down at her desk, intending to get some work done, when her eye fell upon an article clipped from the London Times that lay half-tucked into the blotter. It was an old article, dating back nearly two months to just after she’d returned from Egypt, and she had saved it. Pulling it out from the blotter, she unfolded the worn clipping carefully, her eyes scanning the now-familiar words.

“Cave-in Discovered in Recently Excavated Kings’ Valley Tomb” read the title. “Cairo, Egypt. 10 June 2010. It is believed that the rock tomb designated as New Tomb KV64 and recently excavated in the Valley of the Kings, Luxor, suffered a cave-in of dramatic proportions sometime in the last week. It is not known precisely what triggered the cave-in, but the unfortunate result is that years of excavation work have been utterly lost. The entrance to the tomb has been rendered completely impassable, and archaeologists say that it will be years, if ever, before anyone gains access to this particular tomb again, only the second such burial site to be discovered and excavated there since Howard Carter found the tomb of King Tutankhamun in 1922.

“The director of the Cairo branch of Sotheby’s, Mr. Adrian Branson, told reporters today that six items salvaged from the tomb prior to the cave-in have recently been sold together, at auction, to the British Museum, which is delighted to add such invaluable relics to its collection. The auction took place after the recovery of one of the artefacts, a bowl believed to have been used for early divination rituals. The bowl had gone missing at the time of the original auction date, but turned up mysteriously, undamaged, several days later in an obscure corner of Khan Al-Khalili, Cairo’s 14th-century marketplace. Experts agree that the discovery of the six objects was indeed a fortuitous one, in light of subsequent events.”

At last, Djed-djedi had found a way to protect himself and his possessions, possibly for all eternity and at the very least, for a very long time indeed.

And not surprisingly, Draco had hidden the fake Pensieve somewhere in the Khan. He’d had to do it without her.

Because she had run.

Because… she’d had to, hadn’t she? She’d made such a fool of herself that night. Too much to drink– that had been her first mistake– and all of a sudden, she was virtually seducing Malfoy, of all people. Whatever could she have been thinking, swanning about in that thin, silk frock that clung to her everywhere and made her look practically naked! Merlin, she _was_ very nearly naked beneath it! And oh gods, that _thong_ … What must he have thought of her? All that drink and then throwing herself at him so wantonly, and _then_ , to make matters even worse, blathering on about that stupid, adolescent crush! Well, no doubt he’d had plenty of prior experience with other women who behaved like slags. He probably quite liked it. He’d certainly seemed to that night…

Squeezing her eyes shut to blink away the sudden tears that threatened, Hermione carefully folded the article once again and slid it under the blotter. No use torturing herself yet again with thoughts– and worse, mental pictures!– of what really had been, in retrospect, a huge mistake. She needed to put it behind her and move on.

Pulling a book off the shelf, she began to flip through the pages, looking for the section dealing with the period of a set of very old and rare spell books that had just been anonymously donated to the museum. The books needed to be thoroughly researched before they could be displayed, and this job fell to Hermione. She had just settled back in her swivel chair to do some reading when there was a knock on the door.

“Excuse me, Ms. Granger,” a voice on the other side of the door said. “That donor you asked me to contact, the one who just gave us all those books… he’s here to see you.”

“Oh thank you, Catherine. Please send him in.” The set of two-thousand-year-old spell books was an amazing and quite priceless addition to the museum’s collection, more than compensating for the loss of the Cairo artefacts. This donor, whoever he was, deserved a proper thank you from the museum for such an extraordinarily generous gift. She was glad he had come.

“Hello, Hermione,” a familiar voice said, the tone clipped, business-like. “You asked to see me.”

Hermione looked up from her book. Her mouth fell open slightly, her breath hitching in her throat. For several seconds, she could do no more than stare, and then she sat back, stunned. “It was _you?_ You’re the anonymous donor? But… _why?_ ”

“I have much of great value in my personal collection, and I decided it was time, finally, to share some of it.” Draco glanced briefly at what Hermione had been reading and then he straightened. “I see that you are researching the books,” he remarked politely, but there was no life in his voice. “Perhaps I can help you with that. I know a great deal about their origins.”

“Draco, stop it. Please.” Miserably, Hermione looked down at her hands, which remained folded in her lap, her palms clammy. “Don’t pretend. If you have something to say, just say it.”

“All right, since you insist. Why, Hermione? Why the hell did you leave like that?” His face seemed drained of all colour, his grey eyes dark with anger.

“What does it matter? It didn’t mean anything, did it? It was just a… a… _fling._ I’m sure you’ve had lots of them!” Hermione replied hotly, renegade tears threatening once again. “You’re only asking because you’re probably used to being the one doing the leaving!”

“For your information, I have never left a woman that way in my life. Nor have I ever been left, except by the odd slag, and then only after I’d paid for her services.”

“Are you suggesting I ought to have waited for _payment?_ ” Hermione cried, her voice ragged.

“Maybe you should have done! At least I’d have known what not to expect!” Draco was very angry now, his eyes blazing into hers.

“What the bloody hell do you mean by that?”

“I’d have known,” he gritted out slowly, enunciating each syllable quite deliberately, “not to expect that what we shared actually meant anything. Except that it did, to me. Apparently not to you, though.” He turned away, a small muscle jumping in his clenched jaw. She could see that his fists were clenched as well, his knuckles white.

What could she say? There was nothing, no way to explain what had suddenly become completely inexplicable even to her. At last, she timidly posed the question she’d wanted the answer to all along.

“You mean… it really did? Mean something, that is. Please, Draco…” Her voice was trembling badly now. “I need to know.”

His back was still to her, his words low and barely controlled. “It meant everything. The way it was with you that night… I’ve never had that before. I don’t mean the sex. I mean the way you made me feel. You. Hermione Granger. The last woman on the planet I’d ever have expected to feel something for, something so surprising and confusing and completely daft and… real. It felt _real_ , and that felt _good_.” He turned around to face her now, his face pinched with the anger and hurt that had been consuming him. “And you… you silly cow, did you really think I just wanted you for a quick, meaningless shag? Are you so wrapped up in yourself that you really could not see how you were affecting me? Or was it me? Did I fail so miserably to communicate that?”

“No, you… I…” At a loss for words, Hermione wrung her hands in despair and confusion. He had just pulled the rug out from under her, and she was falling, watching him turn on his heel and take two steps in the direction of the door.

And then, without knowing precisely why, she reached a hand out, as if in doing so, she could draw him closer, make him listen. “No, wait. Please. Let me explain. I… I felt ashamed. That wasn’t really me, that frock and the… the knickers… all that drinking…” Her face was growing heated with embarrassment. “… Or at least not the me I usually am… and I was scared. I… I felt… you must surely have thought badly of me. That I was no better than a common slag. So I ran away. I didn’t want to go! Please believe me. But I didn’t think I could look you in the eye the next morning. You…” Tears were starting in earnest now, pricking at her lashes. One slipped free and ran down her cheek. She brushed at it roughly. “You looked so beautiful, so peaceful, lying there asleep. I didn’t have the heart to wake you, and I couldn’t face what I was afraid I’d see in your eyes when you looked at me. So I left.”

“Sneaked away, you mean.”

“I’m sorry. That was wrong.”

“Yes. It was.” The more overt anger was gradually fading from Draco’s face, but his expression was still stony.

For a time, silence hung heavily in the air between them. Then Hermione rose from her chair and crossed the room to where Draco stood, his back to her once again as he stared sightlessly out the window. Tentatively, she plucked at his jacket, not sure what she would say or do next. Her mouth was dry as dust, her face streaked with tears.

“Can you forgive me?” she faltered at last. And then she fell silent. There were no more words if he refused.

He turned slowly and looked at her.

She reached for his hand, hoping he wouldnt push her away. Standing quite still, he allowed her to lace her fingers through his. She swallowed hard before continuing.

“That night meant so much to me. You made me feel beautiful and special. Please, Draco… you must know that!”

Several interminable seconds passed. Suddenly, he gripped her hand hard, hurting her. And then he pulled her to him, taking her mouth in a punishing kiss, in it all the confusion and disappointment and pain that had consumed him since that morning two months earlier. He kissed her again and again, and now the pain became passion remembered and reignited.

“I want you, Hermione. All of you,” he whispered fiercely. “The woman who brasses me off sometimes, exasperates and challenges me, argues back, keeps me guessing, makes me laugh. The woman who really _sees_ me and understands what she sees. I want all of that!”

The tears were flowing freely now, and Hermione made no attempt to wipe them away. Laughing shakily, she pressed her head to Draco’s chest and clung to him.

“Then I suppose you’re stuck with me, Malfoy,” she murmured, finally gathering the courage to look up into his face. What she saw there astonished her. In his eyes, now a soft dove-grey as he smiled down at her, she saw the woman she was for him, nothing more nor less.

She saw herself.

And she was smiling.

 

 

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=viewofthePyramids.jpg)

 

 

FIN

 

A/N: Tremendous thanks to my beta, mister_otter, on whose unerring instincts and insightful perspective I always depend!

 _Residuum_ \-- (Latin) What remains in the aftermath.

 

I thought it would be fun to share some photos of key locales in the story, to give everyone a taste of the exotic places Draco and Hermione explore in this fic. Enjoy!

 

 **The Magician’s Tale Photo Album**

 

 **The Four Seasons Hotel, First Residence, Cairo**

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=FourSeasonsexterior.jpg) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=FourSeasonsexterior2.jpg) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=hotel-entrance.jpg)  
Exterior shots

 

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=lobby.jpg) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=lobby2.jpg)  
Two views of the lobby

 

Draco’s suite

  


[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=One-bedroomsuitelivingroom.jpg) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=balconyview.jpg)  
The sitting room and a view of the Pyramids from the balcony

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=bedroom-2.jpg) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=cairo_four_seasonsbathroom.jpg)

 

The Tea Lounge and the Pool

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=TeaLounge.jpg) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=003487-01-outdoor-pool.jpg)

 

 **Khan-Al-Khalili**

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=400px-Khan_el_khalili.jpg) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=450px-Khan_elkhaleely_haddara.jpg)

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=DSC02271.jpg) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=egypt9u.jpg)

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=IMG_4384.jpg) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=Khan2.jpg)

 

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=khanh3.jpg) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=k-hekmet1.jpg)  
Marketplace and hidden staircase leading to Alim Sawalha’s home

 

Al-Fishawi Coffee Shop

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=52862.jpg) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=1530665.jpg) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=images-6.jpg)

 

 **The Pyramids of Giza and the Sphinx**

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=800px-All_Giza_Pyramidsbyricardoliberato.jpg) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=SphinxGiza.jpg)

 

 **The Valley of the Kings**

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=valleyofthekingsbynikater.jpg) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=valleyofthekingsbypeterbubenik.jpg)

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=Valley_of_the_Kings_panoramabynicolasmolenski.jpg)  
Panoramic View

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=kv5522layout.jpg)  
Djed-Djedi’s hidden tomb

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=KV8sarcophagusmerenptahbyHajor.jpg)  
Traditional Sarcophagus

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=tomboframessesiiibypeterbubenik.jpg) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=KV62TutankhamunbyHajor.jpg)  
Tomb Art and Hieroglyphs

 

 **Draco’s birthday**

 

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=Nile_Felucca__Sunset_by_elgarbo.jpg) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=felucca-ride-on-the-nile.jpg)  
Two sunset views of feluccas on the Nile, first shot by elgarbo

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=DSCF2037-1.jpg)  
View from the Nefertiti just after sunset

 

Draco and Hermione that evening

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=Tom-Emma-tom-felton-and-emma-watson-17176051-561-557.jpg) [](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=Tom-Emma-tom-felton-and-emma-watson-17117319-326-519-3.jpg)

 

[](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/?action=view&current=Tom-Emma-tom-felton-and-emma-watson-17117296-656-558.jpg)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Huge thanks, as ever, to my lovely beta, mister_otter!


End file.
